


Of Light and Shadow

by AvaloyuruGeovaughni



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Dominant/Submissive, M/M, Master/Slave, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Other, Rape, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-12 18:39:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaloyuruGeovaughni/pseuds/AvaloyuruGeovaughni
Summary: This story is currently under revision and will be reposted when completed.  This story takes place in the immediate aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, referred to in the story as the Battle in the Shadow of the Lonely Mountain.  It is a dark sexual story that both touches on and explores the realm of bondage, torture, rape, Master/slave relationships, and incest.  The story explores Thranduils’ awakening as a submissive to Cerályië, a dark elf whose own past is riddled with the horrors of a power hungry necromancer.





	1. Payment of a Debt

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien’s world, Middle-Earth, or any of its associated characters or geographical locations. I receive no form of compensation monetarily or otherwise from this work of fan-fiction.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil has been delivered to Cerályië, a slave trader elf who lives in the deserted area of Fornost on the other side of the Misty Mountains, 200 miles west of the Woodland Realm. Cerályië is a beautiful Noldor elf who views Thranduil as payment of a debt and has vowed to keep him as his personal pleasure slave until the end of time.

“Move damned you!” Thranduil screamed as he watched in horror at the bloody scene below him.

The small troop of archers had gotten separated from the company and were cornered as orcs advanced in from the west and the goblins were reforming just south of them. Blocked by the mountains in the east, their only safe route out was to head north to the river. If they could just...

Jolted, Thranduil felt a blinding pain wash over him as if his body was suddenly pierced by a thousand arrows of fire. From a distance, as if it were someone else, he heard himself scream. Falling, he was falling into darkness, a darkness so black he could feel the weight of it pressing in on him. Drifting into the depths of the blackness that seemed to cradle him as the pain slowly ebbed from him, leaving nothing but weakness.

“He is awake hîr vuin.” (My Lord) The servant said quietly as he entered the Masters’ study.

“Thank you, Nhaéslal.” Cerályië acknowledged him, smiling softly as he looked up from the papers on his desk. “Inform Dorinäélin that I wish for him to join me.” He added, rising to his feet, the deep blue of his eyes darkening to almost black as he walked toward the servant.

“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, my lord). The servant replied, bowing respectfully as he quickly exited the study.

Schooling his expression with effort, Cerályië strode purposefully through the halls of the Keep. The only sound was the soft swish of his outer robes as his long legs carried him unhurriedly yet swiftly toward the dungeons within the bowels of the Keep. Comfortable in the knowledge that his prize was safely secured and awaiting him, his dusky lips curled in a soft smile.

“Daedalus.” He acknowledged the guard at the door as he opened it for him.

The large room was comfortably illuminated with bright ornate lanterns suspended from the ceiling in each corner and warmed by the glow of the enormous stone hearth that dominated the far wall. Carpeted in multicolored braided rugs and furnished in fine carved oaken furniture, the ambiance reflected more of a stately sitting room than a dungeon, but the dungeons of Klëätyrlin Keep were unlike any other for they served a different purpose. 

Striding across the room toward the narrow raised bed in the far corner, he smiled down at his prize. Reaching down, he softly caressed his cheek with the backs of his fingers, trailing the tips of his fingers along his chin.

“Yes, you can feel my touch and hear my words but you are not yet fully awake.” He said softly, watching the flicker of his eyes behind the closed eyelids following his finger as he caressed his face. “You are even more beautiful than I remember.”

“Who are you?!” Thranduil demanded, even as he was beginning to realize it was only his mind that spoke.

Somewhere on the edge of the darkness that engulfed him, he could feel the gentle fingers that caressed his face almost lovingly. Struggling through the fog that still filled his mind, he tried to put a face on the deep but musical voice that taunted him yet it was lost to him.

“I have waited long for you pen neth nîn.” (My young one). Cerályië said quietly, almost as if he spoke to himself. “Now move him before he awakes.” Cerályië stated, turning away from him as Dorinäélin entered the room.

“Get off me!” Thranduil screamed in his mind as he felt himself being manipulated if he were nothing but a child’s puppet, a marionette with strings. His body hung limp between them, his chin resting on his chest as his head slumped forward as they carried him.

“What do you want?!” He continued to demand, even as fear filled him at the sound of clinking metal chains and feeling of leather strips being fastened to his wrists and ankles. His breath came in short gasps as they maneuvered him, the realization sank in that he was completely exposed in his nakedness.

“Soon pirá neth (little one) you will be fully awake.” The musical voice rang in his ears as he heard the clinking of the metal again as he was slowly lifted, his arms spread with only his toes touching the carpeted floor.

“Only then, when I can look into your eyes will I answer some of your questions.” Cerályië told him quietly as he lifted his chin, smiling at the quivering lips as he struggled to speak.

Cringing inwardly at the sound of the soft laughter, Thranduil tried to pull away from him as he felt his warm lips pressing against his own. A soft whimper escaped his throat as felt him trace his tongue teasingly across his lower lip before sipping it deeply into his mouth. Unable to resist in his current state, he struggled to breathe as the demanding mouth now ravished his own with a searching hungry kiss.

“One day you will beg me for these tender moments.” Cerályië whispered, brushing his lips with his own as he spoke.

“Nn... Nnn.” Thranduil struggled to speak.

“Yes, pirá neth (little one), come on, wake up.” Cerályië almost cooed at him as if he truly were a child as he watched his eyelids flutter in his struggle to open them.

“There you are.” He continued, smiling warmly as he gazed into those beautiful sapphire blue eyes admiringly. So crystal clear they seemed to go on forever, filled with tiny diamond flecks that shown like starlight.

Thranduil felt his throat constrict as he slowly focused on the face in front of him. The perfect oval face was framed in the blackest hair he had ever seen, so black the lanterns reflected a blue shimmer over the long silken tresses. But it was the eyes that drew him, deep blue like the dark velvet of a midnight sky filled with the brilliant sparkle of starlight.

“Who...who are you?” Thranduil asked, his raspy voice barely above a whisper as he stared at him, unable to look away.

“To you I am Herdir.” (Master) He said firmly, even as he continued to smile warmly at him.

“Never.” Thranduil choked, still struggling against whatever drug they had to have given him.

“Oh but yes pirá neth nîn.” (My little one) He chuckled with amusement as he leaned forward, kissing the lips that now closed themselves against him. “You are the spoils of war, a payment of a debt long overdue.” He continued, his tone growing deeper and more firm as he spoke.

“What do you want?” Thranduil asked quietly, his voice still weak. “I can pay you...”

“I have what I want.” Cerályië interrupted him as he released his chin, smiling as he watched him struggle to hold his head up. “I have waited four thousand years for this moment.” He stated, enjoying the confusion that radiated from him.

“You said remember.” Thranduil said, his voice a little stronger. “I do not know you.” He told him as he continued to study him.

“But I know you.” Cerályië replied softly as he leaned closer, almost touching his cheek with his. “I have known you since you were born. I attended your coronation.” He whispered in his ear.

“Impossible! I would...” Thranduil exclaimed, his voice choked at the stress, cutting off before he could finish.

“You would have remembered me?” Cerályië asked, arching a delicate brow at him as he leaned back. “How touching but I think not.” He chuckled as a soft shimmer obscured him for a moment, replacing him with the image of a typical Silvan elf.

“They will come for me.” Thranduil stated, his eyes narrowing as the shimmer faded as quickly as it appeared.

“You are a world away from your precious Woodland Realm.” He stated, caressing his cheek. 

“Why are you doing this?” Thranduil asked as he studied the elf before him, hoping to pick up even bits and pieces of information from him. He spoke perfect Sindarin but the dialect was unfamiliar to him.

“Oh come now.” Cerályië chuckled as his gaze drifted over the taut muscles of his body, now fully displayed to him. “I have already answered that question.” He said, drawing his fingers teasingly upward from his hips to the tiny buds of his nipples, enjoying the slight shiver he felt in him.

“I will never serve you.” He stated, narrowing his eyes at him.

“I am very patient.” Cerályië said quietly, leaning close enough to kiss him yet he held back. “I will enjoy breaking you Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm.” His voice held a hint of laughter as he taunted him, brushing his lips as he spoke.

“It is futile to resist.” He laughed, reaching down to grasp the semi hard shaft of his sex as Thranduil tried to pull away from him. “I derive as much pleasure in torturing you as I do fucking you, the choice is yours.” He said as he began stroking him almost absently.

“Yes.” Cerályië said slowly, stretching out the word like a soft sigh. “Fear can influence many things.” He continued, staring into his eyes as his felt him stiffening in his hands. “The body responds so much more quickly than the mind.”

Jerking his knee upward, Thranduil managed to land a blow on the elf’s hip, knocking him back a step. The chains attached to his ankles limited his motion or he could have struck him with more force.

“Edicûve.” Cerályië stated, a smile curling his lips as he stepped back up to him, taking his face in his hands.

Caught off guard, Thranduil felt the scream rip through his throat as the blow fell hard against the naked flesh of his backside. Clenching his teeth as yet another and another fell, he stared angrily at the elf in front of him, refusing to cry out.

“Spread his legs.” He said quietly, smiling softy as his fingers began caressing his face. “If pain is what you prefer, then you shall have it.” He told him, releasing him suddenly and disappeared behind him.

Walking toward the table against the wall, he scanned the implements and picked up the wide collar. Disappointed slightly as he had hoped to enjoy watching his expressions as he played with him, but alas the punishment was necessary.

Thranduil yelped and tried to twist his head away as his hair was gathered and jerked back, forcing him to look at the ceiling. Ignoring the pain, he continued to shake his head as he felt the collar being wrapped around his neck and buckled in place. Growling angrily, he arched his body, straining against the chains that held him spread between the tall oaken beams.

“I would gag you, but I want to hear you scream.” The deep musical voice of the elf behind him taunted him as he stared at the ceiling, unable to move his head in any direction.

The warning had only slightly prepared him, clenching his jaw as the first blow fell against his sore backside, he refused to give him the pleasure of crying out. Deep growls rumbled in his throat as the blows landed one after another, he fought back the screams that threatened. His chest heaved, his breath became labored from his struggles. Closing his eyes against the tears that stung the backs of his eyes, he felt gentle fingers touching the painful places on his backside. The tenderness was short lived as the blows fell once more, landing sharply across his abused flesh. Against his will, felt his tears leak from the corners of his eyes as he clenched his jaws to stifle the screams he now realized would eventually come.

“There, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Cerályië asked as he reached up and unbuckled the collar, handing it to Edicûve. “I would have preferred to simply enjoy you today, but I cannot allow your stubbornness.” He continued as he loosely embraced him, placing soft kisses on his neck.

“I told you, I will never submit to you.” Thranduil choked out, his throat sore from his screams.

“Oh but you did.” He laughed, his fingers tracing teasing patterns over his back. “Now I must see to your wounds.” He sighed heavily as he released him.

“Put him on the table.” He stated as he walked toward a tall cupboard in the far corner to collect the necessary ointments and supplies to treat the broken and bloodied welts that marred the otherwise perfect backside.

Grimacing painfully as he was lowered back onto his feet, Thranduil considered trying to fight the two elves as they unbuckled the leather cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Stubborn as he was he wasn’t stupid, it felt as if every muscle in his body cried out to him as they lifted his arms over their shoulders, all but carrying him toward a long table. Offering only little resistance as they lifted him onto it, positioning him on his stomach over a hole cut in the center that allowed his sex to hang freely. Wincing as they secured him with a leather strap around his hips as well as his wrists and ankles.

Twisting his head back over his shoulder, he found himself staring into the deep blue eyes of the dark haired elf. He could feel a power emanating from him, it was dark yet he felt no evil in him as he studied the beautiful face that smiled warmly at him. He found himself wondering what had happened to him to fill him with such darkness, who or what had hurt him so terribly. He wondered too, what sort of debt would require such a payment.

Flinching instinctively as he stepped closer, wiping his face with a warm damp cloth. Frowning slightly, Thranduil noted the tenderness in his touch as he washed away the traces of his earlier tears. The elf’s expression never wavered as he continued to smile at him as if he were pleased with him, stirring a strangely odd but familiar feeling deep within him. Questions jumbled over each other in his mind but he remained silent, not wanting to break the spell that seemed to comfort him.

Closing his eyes, he stiffened as the elf turned his attentions to his backside. Clenching his hands into tight fists as he drew the soft cloth gently over his abused flesh, carefully washing away the blood. Tormented by thoughts and feelings that only lingered on the fringes of his mind, he felt the same tenderness in the elf’s touch as he cautiously applied a thick salve to his wounds. Slowly, as the gentle hands worked the numbing salve into his flesh, he felt the pain beginning to fade.

Struggling with the questions that continued to plague him, Thranduils’ frustration grew as he thought about the strange feelings the elf incited within him. So much of his past memory was blank, only bits and pieces that did not seem to fit together. The battle in the shadows of the Lonely Mountain was his clearest memory, yet he could not recall what could possibly have compelled him to war. Faces, most only vaguely familiar to him flashed in his mind, yet he could not recall the names of so many of them.

“Now you must eat if you are to keep your strength.” Cerályië told him quietly as he set about the task of unfastening the straps. “Come.” He smiled as he assisted him to sit up.

“There is more to this than a debt.” He stated, wrapping his arms around the elf as he attempted to help him down off the table.

“It is now in the past.” Cerályië replied as he studied the intense expression on his face.

“Who hurt you?” Thranduil asked, his voice was barely above a whisper, returning the same searching gaze.

Smiling, Cerályië leaned slightly forward, pressing his lips softly to his as he tanged his fingers in the silken mass of his golden hair at the nape of his neck. Firmly yet gently he pulled his head back as he thrust his tongue deeply into his mouth, kissing him searchingly for long moments.

“Your questions will all be answered in due time.” He said quietly, teasing his lips as he spoke.

Swallowing his anger, Thranduil allowed him to assist him down off the table and followed him toward a comfortable looking settee in front of the hearth. As much as he wanted answers, he also knew that pushing him would gain him nothing. There was something in his eyes that told him he was right, someone had hurt him and the cruelty of it had left him scarred.

“Sit.” Cerályië told him, pulling a small leather covered stool from under the settee as he seated himself comfortably on the settee. Smiling as Thranduil obediently sank down onto the stool between his legs. He leaned down, kissing him on the forehead as he pulled him closer to him.

Turning toward the small table and the tray of food, he picked a piece of cheese and broke it in half, holding one half to Thranduils’ lips. “No, open your mouth.” He said quietly when he reached for it. “When I am with you, feeding you is one of my pleasures.”

Frowning slightly he leaned forward and did as he was told, feeling strange that the elf somehow managed to turn even eating into a sensual experience by tracing his finger along his lips. He did this with every bite, sometimes leaving his finger in his mouth, touching his tongue, teasing his lips with his moistened finger. Feeling slightly bold as the elf held down a small piece of fruit, he swallowed it and closed his lips around his finger, sucking it into his mouth.

“You want to play.” Cerályië chuckled softly, arching a delicate brow as he felt his tongue caressing his finger. “Show me.” He said quietly, frowning as he slowly extracting his finger and lounged back in the settee.

Leaning forward, Thranduil pushed aside the outer robe, watching his eyes darken as he slowly worked the laces of his silk leggings. Slipping his fingers beneath the top, he smiled to himself as the elf lifted his hips allowing him to pull them down enough to expose his fully aroused sex. Lifting himself onto his knees, he circled the crown with his tongue, feeling it twitch as he closed his lips around it. Gentle fingers caressed his cheeks and his jaw as he slowly worked his way down the thick girth, pausing for a moment to breathe deeply and relax enough to press his face into the warm flesh of his lower belly.

Closing his eyes, Cerályië sucked his lower lip in his mouth as he laid his head back on the settee. Part of him wanted to grasp his head and drive himself relentlessly into that hot mouth but he wanted it to last as long as Thranduil could endure it. Digging his fingers into the softness of the cushion as the tension built within him, he struggled to remain still and allow him what he normally considered a reward. Slowly, against his will, he felt himself reaching the pinnacle, the point of no return as Thranduil suckled him passionately. Groaning softly as the pressure broke deep within him, he clenched his jaw and rocked his hips forward as he felt the relief drain from him.

Leaning forward as Thranduil pulled free of him, he scooped him up from under his arms and pulled him to him. Capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss, he could taste himself as he ravished his mouth. Grasping handfuls of his thick hair, he pulled his head back, exposing his slender neck. Releasing his mouth, he kissed his neck, enjoying the feeling of the rapid pulsing of his heartbeat. Content for the moment to just hold him, Cerályië breathed in the scent of him.

“It is time to put you to bed pirá neth.” (Little one) He told him softly as he caressed his back. “You must rest, for tomorrow is another day.” He said, pulling him with him as he stood up, pausing for a moment to readjust his leggings and tie them back in place.

Taking him by the hand, he led him across the room to the raised bed and pulled the blankets down for him. Smiling as he stretched out on his back, Cerályië let his gaze roam freely over his toned and muscled body. Yes he was very beautiful, more exquisite than he remembered and far more passionate with another ellyn (male elf) than he would have guessed. Unlike the other slaves that passed through his Keep, Thranduil belonged to him now and like Säévÿl, his only other personal slave, he would remain here for as long as he lived.

“Every place has its rules.” He said quietly as he sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand absently caressing the length of his aroused sex. “I have already permitted you one reward in allowing you to pleasure me. Why would I reward you again?” He asked, arching a brow as he studied his face, disappointment flickered in the depths of his eyes before he lowered them.

“You do blush so beautifully.” He chuckled as he reached over, caressing his cheek, smiling as Thranduil lifted his gaze to look at him again. “I realize this is all new to you and you do not know these rules yet. But know this, here you are just another slave. As I teach you these rules, I will severely punish you for any disobedience. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” Thranduil replied, feeling the heat in face intensify.

“Yes what?” Cerályië asked, narrowing his eyes at him.

Staring up at him, Thranduil knew what he wanted and to say it would feel as if he were sealing his own fate. Licking his lips anxiously, he knew too that he could not handle another whipping tonight and had no doubt this one would be worse because he would view this as an act of direct defiance and not just disobedience.

“Yes, Herdir.” (Master) He whispered softly through a suddenly parched throat, dropping his gaze as he felt the heat of his embarrassment compounded by the added wave of humiliation that washed over him.

“Very good.” Cerályië said quietly as he leaned down, kissing him tenderly.

Smiling to himself as his kiss grew more searching, Cerályië slowly drew his hands over his head. Thrusting his tongue deeply as he felt him responding, leaning into the kiss, his nimble fingers quickly secured leather covered metal cuffs around Thranduils’ wrists.

“Wha...”

“Sh.” Cerályië hushed him with a firm finger on his lips, smiling as he pulled back from him.

“You have learned one lesson today.” He said quietly as he ran his finger across his lips, enjoying the almost frightened look in those beautiful eyes as Thranduil tried to speak. “While you are most precious to me, I am the Herdir (Master). You are here for my pleasure only.” He told him as he stood up and turned away from him.

“I suggest you not exert yourself and try to get some rest.” He stated as he walked away from him.

“Damned you!” Thranduil screamed silently, his mouth and lips moving yet the muscles in his throat felt paralyzed. Jerking frantically at the cuffs as he glared angrily at the elf’s back as he walked toward the other elf who had made himself comfortable in one of the large chairs in front of the hearth.

“If he continues to struggle, you have my permission to spank him.” Cerályië stated loud enough to ensure Thranduil heard him, then turned and left the room.


	2. Conflict of Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future is no longer clear as both Thranduil and Cerályië begin to struggle with unvoiced feelings for and about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it! Comments are always welcome and responded to.

Frowning deeply, Cerályië sat quietly beside the narrow bed listening to Thranduils’ strangled whimpers as he rocked himself in a fitful slumber. His beautiful face was twisted in pain, not a physical pain but one of the heart, his mumbled whimpers begged forgiveness.

“Hush now pirá neth nîn, av-'osto.” (My little one, don’t be afraid). He whispered softly as he gently ran his finger across his forehead. “Av-‘osto.” (Don’t be afraid). He repeated, soothing him as he pulled the nightmare from him, watching the anguish slowly ease from his features. Tears stung the backs of his eyes as he drew them into himself, struggling with the images as he shattered them one by one into nothingness.

“Cerályië!” Dorinäélin exclaimed, his tone stressed with the need to keep his voice low and the concern that radiated from his pale gray eyes.

“I am fine.” Cerályië insisted, nearly jerking himself up from the chair.

“You cannot...” Dorinäélin started as he stepped up behind him.

“I know what I’m doing.” Cerályië snapped, interrupting him as his blue eyes turned black and flashed angrily as he turned to face him. “I am sorry.” He sighed heavily, his gaze flickering about the room for a few moment before settling on the now peacefully sleeping Thranduil.

“I am not taking his memories, just his dreams.” He said quietly, smiling as he gently touched Dorinäélins’ cheek. “Bring me his breakfast.” He added as Dorinäélin seemed to relax a little.

“Ben iest gîn.” (As you wish) He nodded as he patted Cerályiës’ shoulder comfortingly before turning to do as he was ordered.

“And now for you pirá neth nîn.” (My little one) He thought to himself as he walked into the bathing chamber. Collecting a soft cloth from the cupboard, he walked to the small basin and lifted the lever. There was a constant flow of heated water provided through a series of copper pipes from the huge heated copper vats in the kitchens. Thoroughly wetting the cloth, he wrung it out and quickly made his way back to Thranduils’ side.

Pulling the covers back, he frowned as he observed his still swollen member thrusting upward. The stickiness of his partially dried arousal fluids was smeared liberally over his lower belly. Sinking back down in the chair, while he knew he would not wake he cautiously grasped its thickness and began gently stroking him as he studied his sleeping face. He felt his own arousal threaten as Thranduil sighed, his soft pinkish lips parted in response to the pleasuring. Gently drawing the cloth over his lower belly, he carefully cleaned away any signs of his release and covered him again.

Sighing deeply, he rose and returned to the bathing chamber to discard the soiled cloth. Pausing for long moments, he recalled the long centuries he had waited take his revenge on the one who had done the same to him. The one who had broken him, used him and then so callously threw him aside, forever changing him.

“Put it by settee.” He said, glancing briefly at Dorinäélin as he walked back to Thranduil.

“Time to wake up, pirá neth.” (Little one) He said softly as he sat down on the bed beside him, tracing the tip of his finger across his forehead. Smiling as he watched his eyelids flutter briefly before his gaze focused on him in a narrowed, distrusting stare.

“Good morning.” He greeted him as he leaned down, placing a soft kiss on his unresponsive lips. “Do not mistake my kindness for weakness.” He told him quietly, pulling back slightly to meet his challenging gaze evenly for long moments before kissing him again. Smiling to himself, he kissed him deeply as Thranduil reluctantly opened his mouth to him.

“Now let me look at you.” He stated as he leaned back, grasping his hip firmly to turn him onto his stomach. Gently examining the areas where the welts had been broken during the whipping, he frowned as he felt him flinch slightly at his touch.

“It is not my intention to damage you.” He told him as he turned him onto his back. “We will have our breakfast while I decide what to do with you today.” He continued as he retrieved a small key from within the pocket of his outer robe and unlocked the cuffs.

Reluctantly Thranduil allowed himself to be assisted from the bed and followed him to the settee where he saw the breakfast tray on the stand. Without being told, he sank down onto the small stool as the elf made himself comfortable on the softer cushion of the settee. Studying him as the elf began feeding him, he looked for any signs that might reveal something, anything about him but his expression was guarded. He could feel him studying him in return as he continued to hand him small morsels of cheese, fruit, and honey coated cinnamon bread. Again, the elf would touch him, caress his lips, cheeks, and chin as he chewed the food, it was most disconcerting.

“You need to learn self-control.” Cerályië said almost absently as he picked up the small teacup and held down to him for a drink. “You were far too bold in your advances last evening.” He told him as he met his gaze from over the rim of the cup.

“You can cooperate with me.” He began quietly as he set the teacup back on the tray. “Or I can summon Dorinäélin and Edicûve to assist me.” He said, turning to face him again. “I promise you they will not be as concerned for your comfort as I. The choice is yours.” He added when Thranduil only stared at him in silence.

“Alright, come with me.” He stated as Thranduil only nodded, extending his hand to him as he rose to his feet. “You may find this uncomfortable, but you should feel no pain.” He continued as he led him into the bathing chamber.

Thranduil glanced quickly around at the stone walls of the room as they entered, it appeared to have been carved from the bedrock. His elven senses had already told him they were under ground, just how far he couldn’t tell yet as he had detected a slight flow of fresh air earlier. The dominate feature of the room was the pool of water carved in the floor in the corner that seemed to swirl as if fed by a continuous flow from an unseen source, the moisture in the air told him the water was at least warm.

“Up here.” Cerályië told him, patting the stone surface of a carved ledge in the far wall. “There are those who actually find this quite pleasant.” He said quietly as he pulled him into his arms when he resisted, forcing him to look at him. “I promise, there will be no pain.”

Stiffly, Thranduil allowed him to assist him up onto the ledge even as every part of him wanted to run. Where would he go, he had no idea where he was, he was alone, and vulnerable in his nakedness. Closing his eyes he struggled with that urge as the elf positioned him on his back, guiding him down until he felt the edge of the small basin against his backside.

Lifting his knees, Cerályië positioned his feet on the other side of the basin and gently pressed one knee against the wall and held the other to his chest. Dipping his finger into a small pot of thick herbal salve on the shelf, he spread it over the small wrinkled muscle beneath his ball sack. Reaching into the basin, he picked up the narrow lacquered coated bone carved in the form of a nozzle attached to a narrow length of softened leather normally used in the making of water flasks and inserted it into his rear opening.

“Relax.” He told him as Thranduil arched and tried to close his legs. “This can be pleasurable if you let it. It is only water.” He told him as he slowly lifted the lever to start the flow of water. “I am not hurting you, only cleaning you.”

Clenching his teeth, Thranduil glared at him as he felt the warm water filling his most private part. He tightened his muscles against the pressure to no avail as the flow continued to fill him, building an uncomfortable pressure in his bowels and lower belly.

“Let it go.” He told him as he removed the bone nozzle.

Turning his face away from him, Thranduil felt nauseous with humiliation as he expelled the water only to feel him insert it again, filling him once more. There was no pain as promised, yet he had never felt so degraded in his life as the process was repeated again and again until the elf was satisfied that he was clean.

“You did very well.” Cerályië told him as he pressed the lever down to cut off the water. “Now come, time for a bath.”

“What does this have to do with self-control?!” Thranduil asked harshly, struggling with great difficulty to not sound demanding as the elf assisted him down off the ledge.

Turning his face away from him as the elf only glared at him for speaking without permission, he braced himself for some form of punishment that didn’t come, at least not at that moment.

“Get into the pool.” Cerályië instructed him as he turned him toward it, giving him a slight push toward the single step down into the swirling water. “I will join you in a moment.” He said as he began removing his clothing, draping it over a small chair.

Still angry, Thranduil stepped down into the pool and waded out into the middle before turning to watch him, the warm water swirled just above his knees. He was uncomfortably aware that part of his humiliation with what had just happened was because he had been aroused by the feel of it. Looking at the elf now, he felt his arousal growing even more as he stood there gloriously naked in front of him. He was not muscular yet his body appeared well toned and defined as his gaze trailed over him. Against the pale background of the stone walls he could see an olive glow to his skin, his dark tresses spilled down over his broad shoulders, reaching his narrow hips.

“You like what you see?” Cerályië asked, arching a brow, his lips curling in a sarcastic sort of smile as he stepped gracefully down into the water.

Thranduil felt his throat go dry, unable to speak as he just stood there watching the beautiful elf walk toward him with the aura of a predator approaching his prey.

“Most who look upon me have the same desires as do you.” He said quietly as he slipped his arms around him, drawing him into a tight embrace. “I enjoy having what others want but I derive so much more pleasure being what they cannot have.” He whispered, his lips brushing Thranduils’ as he spoke.

Whimpering under the sudden onslaught of his kiss, Thranduil clung to him as the elf drove his tongue deeply into his mouth. For long moments his kissed him hungrily, ravishing his mouth until he struggled for breath and his jaws ached.

“If your talents last evening are any indication, I know you are more than familiar with what I want from you.” Cerályië stated as he walked him backwards to the edge of the pool. Turning him around, he pressed his chest to the floor at the edge of the pool and spread his legs. Grasping his wrists, he drew them back to his hips as he leaned over him.

“Use your hands, spread yourself for me.” He whispered seductively in his ear as he guided his hands in place. “I am going to enjoy taking my pleasures of you when, where, and how I choose.” He told him as he stood up, running his finger down between the cheeks of his backside as he sank to his knees.

Stiffening as he felt his wrists trapped in the strong vice like grip, Thranduil panicked. Then gasped in surprise as the elf drove his hot tongue into him. Groaning, he gripped his cheeks harder as he pushed back against the tantalizing tongue. Slowly, as he squirmed to press harder against his mouth, he moaned shamelessly as the elf alternated between hard jabbing thrusts and soft teasing strokes as he licked him, it was nothing like anything he had ever felt before.

Smiling to himself, Cerályië continued to pleasure him with his mouth as he rose to his feet. Grasping the shaft of his own erection as he pulled away, he pressed fully into him in one slow motion. Listening as his moans intensified, echoing off the stone walls, he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of his pulsing muscles as he drove himself into him, letting the tension build within him. Sucking his lower lip into his mouth he gripped his hips, grinding himself against him as the momentary weakness of his release washed over him.

Pulling free of him, he wordlessly walked away to collect a small washing cloth from a woven basket at the edge of the pool. Watching him on the edges of his vision as he picked up the bottle of scented soap and poured some of it on the cloth, Cerályië pretended to ignore him for the most part as he lathered and washed himself. Meeting his gaze briefly, he traced the tip of his tongue over his lips as he reached back, drawing the cloth slowly over his own backside. Turning away from him, he picked up a small pitcher, dipping it into the pool, he poured it over himself as he rinsed the soap from his body.

In silence Thranduil had watched him, still trembling from his own release that had shocked him as he had reached that pinnacle without either of them even touching him. He knew the elf was watching him as he took his time lathering himself, turning the simple task of bathing into one of the most sensually arousing displays he had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

“Come.” Cerályië said softly as he discarded the cloth and lathered a second one. “Most of the time I will personally see to your care.” He told him as Thranduil came within arm’s length of him. “Unfortunately there are occasions when official matters will require my attention and either Dorinäélin or Edicûve will see to your needs.” He told him as he drew the soapy cloth across his chest.

“No.” He stated, chuckling as Thranduil twisted easily from his soapy grasp to stare at him, a deep frown creasing his brow. “They are not permitted to touch you other than to bathe you.” He said as he leaned forward, one hand gently grasping his now soft sex as the other slipped a finger slowly down the crack of his backside to rub teasingly over his rear opening. “This all belongs to me.”

“As beautiful and desirable as you are.” Thranduil began cautiously, his voice just above a whisper as he gazed into the depths of those dark blue eyes that seemed to pull something from deep within him. “You cannot keep me here.”

“I can and I will.” Cerályië stated ominously, his expression turning as cold as the stone walls that surrounded them. “In four thousand years, no one has ever entered or left here without my permission.”

“Who are you?” Thranduil asked through clenched teeth as the elf grasped a handful of his hair, cruelly twisting his head backward.

“I am either your worst nightmare or your savior, the choice is yours.” He stated as he suddenly released him and moved behind him. “Now be silent or I shall be forced to punish you in spite of my desire to do otherwise.” He told him as he resumed the task of bathing him.

Smiling to himself, Thranduil fell silent, submitting to an admittedly pleasurable bath. It wasn’t much but the elf’s confidence in his belief that he would not be able to find a way out told him this was a stronghold of sorts which meant there were far more guards and henchmen than just the three he had seen. Still, it didn’t matter, he had no idea where he was, what direction or how far he was from the Woodland Realm. Submitting to the elf’s demands, if only to acquire information made more sense at this point.

Unfortunately, his disobedience in speaking without permission and asking questions had created an uneasy silence between them. The elf’s expression remained guarded and unreadable as he rinsed him and guided him up out of the pool. His touch remained gentle as he toweled him dry and guided him down into the chair where he had draped his clothing to brush out his hair, even placing a soft kiss on the top of his head before tending to himself. He openly watched him as he quickly ran the brush through his own dark tresses, his nimble fingers hastily weaving its length into a long braid. Thranduil could not help but wonder once more about the elf’s’ past, what tragedy had befallen him that would have filled him with such darkness.

“Self-control can be a difficult task to learn.” Cerályië commented without looking at him as he lifted a long silk robe from a peg on the wall. “But I am sure someone such as yourself would agree that it is a necessary quality.” He said quietly, smiling almost warmly as he turned to face him, tying the robe loosely about his hips. “Now come.”

Frowning as he rose to his feet, Thranduil followed him back into the main room, although it was quite comfortable by all appearances, he realized it was now his prison. After the elf had left him, the guard he now knew to be the one he called Edicûve had turned out the large lanterns suspended from the ceiling, leaving much of the room in darkness save for the glow of the fire in the hearth. In the brighter light, his gaze flickered quickly over the carved oaken furniture throughout the room, noting their oddly grotesque shapes and the leather straps that hung loosely from them.

“Sit.” The elf instructed him as he paused, placing his hand on the back of a large wooden chair. “It does not bode well for you to make me repeat myself.” He stated, patting the back of the chair impatiently.

Frozen in place as he stared at him, it was only when Dorinäélin stepped within view, his hand dropping to the handle of the ever present leather strap at his hip that he found himself moving stiffly toward the elf. His gut twisted painfully as the elf guided him down onto the hard wooden surface of the seat, believing that whatever the elf intended at least it did not appear to be another whipping. Frowning, his mind raced as the elf deftly secured him with straps on his wrists and ankles, his nimble fingers making quick work of the buckles.

Struggling to remain calm, he watched as the elf walked toward a small dresser against the wall. His gaze flickered back and forth between him and the guard as the elf rummaged through the top drawer for a few moments before he found whatever he was looking for. Thranduils’ frown deepened as he watched him walk back toward him with a small piece of leather in his hand.

“The bath was more for my personal pleasure.” Cerályië said quietly as he reached under the chair to retrieve a low leather covered padded stool and lowered his tall frame onto it. “Now we begin with your lessons in self-control.” He told him, holding the piece of leather up where Thranduil could see it more clearly as he looked at it in confusion.

“It is really quite simple.” He stated, his tone carrying that slight lilt of humor that Thranduil had quickly learned meant he would not like whatever was about to happen.

Grunting in pain as the elf wrapped the leather around the shaft of his semi-hard shaft, leaving the crown exposed as he began loosely lacing it closed. Squirming as he felt tiny pricks biting into the sensitive skin only earned him a hard stinging slap on his inner, making him yelp in pain.

“The only way to ease your discomfort is through self-control.” Cerályië informed him as he rose to his feet. “The more aroused you become, the more discomfort you will feel.”

“You bastard!” He screamed silently, refusing to give in to whatever game he was playing with him. Grasping the arm of the chair, he closed his eyes against the image of him walking away as he struggled to think of anything except for where he was and what was happening to him.

Breathing deeply, Thranduil struggled as he reached deep into his memory, pulling images of the battles he had fought. While it was something he had always tried to avoid at all cost, conflict and even war sometimes proved inevitable no matter how hard he tried to avoid it. As King of the Woodland Realm, he had always sought a more diplomatic approach to conflict, refusing to sacrifice the lives of his people for the senseless greed of others.

“Adar.” (Father) He whispered softly to himself as he remembered so clearly the Battle of Dagorlad. So many were the slain that they were buried in a mass grave that was eventually engulfed completely by the Dead Marshes.

“Leave us.” Cerályië stated, glancing at his personal servant as they entered his private sitting room.

“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, my lord) Nhaéslal stated, bowing respectfully as he glanced curiously at Dorinäélin who only shook his head slightly.

Moving directly to one of the comfortable leather armed chairs in front of the hearth, Cerályië ignored them. He had felt the unvoiced disapproval of a number of his household staff almost immediately after Thranduil had been brought to him. There had been too many of the guards and even number of his soldiers who had recognized him, his face was very recognizable. It would also be impossible not to for anyone who had known or even met his mother, who's face defined beauty. He was the very image of her and more.

“You cannot do this Cerályië.” Dorinäélin said quietly as he poured them both a goblet of wine. “It has already taken so much from you.” He told him, ignoring the angry glare as he handed him one of the goblets.

“I am fine.” He insisted, still glaring at him as he watched him sink down into the comfort of the armed chair opposite him. Rolling his eyes when the guard shook his head at him, he turned his gaze to flames in the hearth.

“We cannot defend against his armies.” Dorinäélin stated calmly, studying his longtime friend. “These people have never known war and that is what you will bring upon them if you keep him here.”

“I can make him forget.” He replied, lowering his gaze somewhat but did not want to look at his friend. “I have waited so long.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Enslaving him will not bring you the peace you seek.” The guard stated as he looked down into the dark liquid in his goblet. “It will change nothing.”

“How long before we can move?” Cerályië asked, finally lifting his eyes to look at him.

“Not before next spring and moving that distance is not safe in winter.” Dorinäélin said frowning deeply. “You cannot possibly be serious!” He exclaimed, meeting his gaze evenly.

“I will consider releasing him then.” Cerályië stated, his tone was firm brooking no argument on the matter. “Tell Nhaéslal to inform me when you take the midday meal to him. Now leave me.”

“Ben iest gîn.” (As you wish) Dorinäélin sighed heavily as he pushed himself up from the chair.

Schooling his expression to one of indifference, Cerályië watched him as he nodded respectfully and departed. His thoughts returning to Thranduil, in truth he had nearly given up on possessing him it had been so long, so very long. A soft smile touched his lips as he thought of the events of the morning, the sweet taste of his resignation as he cleaned him. Yet he felt a strength in him that made him wonder if he could break him or if he truly wanted to. Normally he felt nothing but disgust or even revulsion when others looked upon him, their leering eyes filled with lust, yet Thranduils’ gaze held only desire.

“As beautiful and desirable as you are.” Thranduils’ words haunted his mind as he remembered the soft look in his eyes as he spoke.

He knew that Dorinäélin had spoken the truth, his small army was more than enough to defend the Keep and the surrounding villages. But they would not withstand a full-fledged assault from a war seasoned army, especially one resolved to rescue their king.


	3. Sweet Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has only been a couple of weeks since he was taken captive and given as payment of a debt he knows nothing of. Confused about the strange feelings the dark elf Cerályië incites within him, Thranduil starts to succumb to the demands of the Lord of the Keep, as his Master.

Pulling his legs up into the large chair in front of the hearth, Thranduil wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees as he gazed into the flames that danced across the logs. He wondered at the absence of the dark elf, it had been several days since he had visited him. He was only able to mark the passage of time by the fact that they made sure to feed him three meals a day and he was required to bathe every morning. He was relieved the guards were content to at least allow him the privilege of doing these things himself. Strange feelings stirred just under the surface of his thoughts, things he could not put into words.

The stone faced guards spoke only to him when they needed him to wake up, bathe or eat and looked at him with strange knowing glances yet never answered his questions. He yearned for simple conversation with anyone. He longed as well for the freedom of the forest, the scents of the many pines, oaks, and birch trees, and the flora that grew in abundance along the forest floor. He missed the subtle voices of forest animals, the rivers, and streams.

“You are a world away from your precious Woodland Realm.” The dark elf had told him. Yet he knew in his heart they were looking for him, he felt the tears stinging the backs of his eyes as his thoughts turned to his son. His sweet beautiful Legolas, his little leaf.

Reaching the ramparts at the top of the northeastern tower, Edicûve paused for long moments observing the silhouette of the Lord of the Keep. Wrapped in his thick winter cloak, Cerályië gazed silently toward the darkening evening sky. Only a small spattering of stars had begun to twinkle as the deep pinks and lavenders slowly deepened into true night. 

“Why do you disturb me?” Cerályië asked quietly, without turning as he pulled the cloak tighter about him. Winter was now fully upon them and the icy winds from the north seemed to reach into every part of him.

“You cannot keep ignoring him.” Edicûve replied, keeping his voice low as he walked over to stand beside him.

“I grow tired of being told what I can and cannot do.” Cerályië sighed heavily, casting him a sideways glance.

“You cannot hide from your feelings Cerá.” He said quietly as he leaned against the stone of the rampart.

“My feelings?!” He exclaimed as he turned to face him, the hood of his cloak obscuring his face. “How do you know what I feel?!” He demanded, glaring at him as folded his arms protectively across this chest.

“You’re in love with him.” Edicûve stated pointedly as he turned to look at him. Although his face was hidden within the shadows of the hood, he could feel the angry glare.

“Love?!” He nearly choked out through humorless laughter. “Love is nothing but a silly fairy tale told to young children to give them false hope.” He stated, his voice was as cold as the frozen wastelands of the north.

Turning away from him Cerályië felt his entire body tremble as he strode purposefully toward the stairs, disappearing into the Keep. Love was nothing but a fools dream. The faces came and went, he enjoyed the pleasures their bodies could give him, never allowing them to touch his heart. All but one yet he knew it wasn’t love, love was meant to last forever. Thranduil would be set free in the spring when it was safe to cross the Misty Mountains and he would never see him again.

Tossing his cloak over the back of the long leather covered settee in front of the hearth in his public sitting room, he walked straight to the bookcase in the far corner. Triggering the latch to open the secret passage, shaking himself mentally as he pulled it closed behind him and silently disappeared into the tunnels leading to the dungeons below.

“I see you have fared well in my absence.” He stated as he entered the room, smiling as he saw Thranduil rise quickly from the chair in front of the hearth. “You may leave us now Dorinäélin.” He added, his eyes never leaving Thranduil as he walked toward him.

“I did not intend to leave you for so long.” He said quietly as he wrapped his arms around him, kissing him softly. “Very good.” He whispered, teasing his lips with his own as he dropped one hand to gently caress his flaccid sex.

Stiffening instinctively Thranduil struggled with the myriad of emotions that washed over him. Initially his anger flared at the elf’s audacity for having kept him prisoner in the first place, yet he felt almost a relief that he had come back, he had not abandoned him. Unexplained feelings fluttered in his stomach as the elf seemed to float gracefully toward him, wrapping him in a warm embrace. Frowning inwardly, he was startled at his disappointment that the kiss has been so brief. Turning his face away from him, Thranduil was confused at the heat that flushed his cheeks as his body quickly responded to the elf’s gentle fondling.

“You learn quickly pirá neth nîn (My little one), that is good.” He almost purred as he nuzzled his ear softly. Enjoying the slight tremble he felt in him as he nipped playfully at his earlobe. “I am in need of you tonight.” He told him softly as he guided him backward, pressing him to his knees on the thick furs in front of the hearth.

Laying back on the soft furs, Thranduil found himself admiring the elf’s lean body, watching the play of his muscles as he slowly removed his robes. While he still refused to willingly refer to him as Herdir, he wondered at his name, who he was and where he came from as he let his gaze roam over him. Smiling to himself as the elf ran his fingers through his long dark tresses, obviously aware of the fact that he was watching him. Nervously wetting his lips, his gaze followed him as he walked gracefully toward the tall cupboard he knew contained medicinal supplies.

Smiling almost wickedly, Cerályië returned with a small tin of herbal salve. Placing it on the ledge in front of the hearth, he lowered himself onto the furs with one knee on each side of his thighs. Meeting his gaze, he absently stroked himself as he looked down at him. The arrogance of a king only slightly weakened by the subtle tremble in his parted lips. He knew based on their precious contact that Thranduil was not innocent in the ways of intimacy between ellyn, yet it was a quality that exuded from him in this world as he stared up at him.

“You have been good but you have not yet earned the privilege of looking at me while I take my pleasure of you. Turn over.” He told him, enjoying the flash anger in those beautiful eyes. “Do I need to use a strap to provide you with encouragement?” He asked when Thranduil hesitated.

“It excites you to be used like a little zan kurv (Elf whore) doesn’t it?” Cerályië asked, caressing the firm mounds of his backside as he reached under him to feel him stiffening.

“No!” Thranduil stated angrily as he started to roll back over. “Yes!” He immediately yelped painfully as a brutal slap quickly fell across one cheek of his backside.

“Beg me for it.” Cerályië taunted him, caressing the pink swipe on his flesh where he had just marked him. “Beg me to fuck you.”

“I did not hear you.” He stated, landing another hard slap on the other cheek.

“Mmphf!” Thranduil grunted painfully through clenched jaws. “I want you to fuck me.” He gasped, swallowing hard against a suddenly parched throat.

“I did not hear you say please.” Cerályië stated, landing another slap over the other side.

“Please!” Thranduil exclaimed, flinching as another stinging slap landed on his backside.

“Please what?” He asked, raking his nails over his backside, enjoying the long hiss that escaped Thranduils’ throat.

“Please fuck me!” Thranduil exclaimed, burying his face in his folded arms. “Aaahh!” He cried out as he arched his back against the pain of yet another hard swat to his now tender backside.

“Who do you want to fuck you?” Cerályië asked, pushing him further as he raised his hand again, waiting for the answer.

“You are not my Herdir!" (Master) Thranduil exclaimed loudly only to hear his choked scream as the elf grabbed a handful of his hair, jerking his head back as he slapped his backside hard.

“I suggest you rethink yourself.” Cerályië stated, twisting the handful of his thick golden tresses cruelly as he pulled back a little further.

“Please fuck me Herdir.” (Master) Thranduil choked out as he struggled to breathe, feeling his cheeks scald with his humiliation.

“That’s better.” Cerályië chuckled as he quickly released his hair. “Keep your head down and spread your legs for me.” He stated calmly, his tone was soft yet conveyed no feelings as he grasped his hips, lifting them upward. 

Covering the firm mounds with his hands, Cerályië used his thumbs to gently spread his cheeks. Leaning toward him, he swiped his tongue over the now fully exposed opening, spreading a thin layer to saliva over it. Blowing softly over the wet skin, he felt him tremble and flex his muscles in a futile effort to close his cheeks against him.

“My sweet little zan kurv.” (Elf whore) He said quietly as he released him, reaching for the small tin of salve. “Look at you trembling, on your knees begging me to fuck you.” He continued to taunt him as he dipped his finger in the tin and spread the salve thickly over the flexing wrinkled muscle.

“Oh God!” Thranduil cried out silently, his body was not only responding to the humiliation of his undignified position, it was screaming for what his mind would not put into words.

He wanted this! Trembling to his very core, his body was crying out to be used by the beautiful elf. Digging his fingers into the thickness of the furs, he heard himself sigh as he felt his long slender finger slip easily into him. Instinctively his muscles flexed and tightened as the second slid inside, soliciting a soft moan from his lips as he felt him slowly stretching him. The sounds of his moans grew louder, stinging his cheeks in his humiliation as a third finger slipped inside, stretching him even more.

Positioning himself with his other hand, Cerályië removed his fingers as he pressed into him in one slow thrust. Burying himself to the hilt, he held still for long moments as he felt him tense, his body shuddering as he filled him completely. Grasping his hips firmly as he rocked against him gently at first, listening as the strained whimpers slowly faded to moans of pleasure. Each thrust gifted him with yet another groan as he continued to use his body, slamming into him as he sought release.

Pulling free of him, he smiled as he watched his fluids dribble from the swollen and abused pink orifice. His smile broadened as he dropped his gaze slightly to the small creamy puddles on the furs beneath him. Wordlessly, he guided him down onto the furs, placing him on his side as he rose to his feet and walked to the bathing chamber.

Washing himself in the basin, his smile turned inward. As with so many others he had trained, he knew Thranduils’ mind vehemently rejected what his pride refused to accept yet he could not control his surrender to what his body so obviously desired. There would be no need to break him in order to make him love him.

Cerályië froze, shocked to his very core as the thought lodged itself in his mind. Love? How could he even think of such a thing knowing he could never fully possess him? Tortured by the images that sprang unbidden to his mind, he leaned heavily against the stone edge. Trembling as images of that sweet, beautiful face as he lay sleeping peacefully. The rare moments when he would almost smile back at him as he fed him. A fools dream he reminded himself as he tossed the soiled cloth into the basket and wet another one before returning to the main chamber of the dungeon.

Stiffening slightly as he felt him sit down behind him, Thranduil grasped a handful of the thick fur beneath him, bracing for some form of punishment. Frowning slightly as he felt his gentle fingers parting the cheeks of his backside, a soft warm cloth was drawn slowly over his sore flesh as he cleaned him. Fastidious in his own personal cleanliness, it was something he was admittedly appreciative of the elf. Glancing down through a sheen of tears he would not shed, he watched as the elf reached over him, wiping up the puddles of his own release before tossing the soiled cloth up onto the stone foot of the hearth.

Closing his eyes, he offered no resistance as the elf gently guided him onto his back. Again the confusion wash over him as he felt the warmth and smelled the scent his sweet breath on his face as the elf leaned closer. Gentle fingers caressed his face as they brushed away the stray strands of his hair, tucking them behind his ears. He felt the sting of more tears as those warm lips softly kissed his lashes, as if tasting his tears before trailing down over his cheeks to his own lips.

Softly kissing him, his lips trembled as he impulsively opened his mouth to let him inside. It was not the hungry demanding kiss he was more accustomed to from him. Searching yes but it was also tender and curious as he dipped his tongue into his mouth, playfully touching and teasing his own tongue. 

“Ah.” Cerályië sighed, pulling away from him slightly. “Pirá celebmîr nîn.” (My little silver treasure). He said quietly as he watched him slowly open his eyes to look at him. “Amin sinta lle, lle naa vanima?” (Do you know how beautiful you are?) His voice fading to a soft whisper, his gaze flickered over his face as he caressed his cheek. “Ci sui ‘lî erin lam nîn.” (You are like honey to my tongue) He continued softly as he leaned down, nipping his chin playfully.

“Damn you!” Thranduil cursed him silently as the elf trailed lingering kisses over the soft flesh of his neck.

Trembling, his mind raced with feelings of anger and desire as the warm lips and teasing tongue continued down his chest, pausing to flick over his hardening nipples. Reaching for him, he groaned in frustration as the elf moved over him, grasping his wrists and holding them at his hips with an unnatural strength. Heedless of his struggles, the elf continued to kiss and lick his flesh as he used his knees to push his legs apart.

Smiling to himself as he settled between his thighs, he marveled at Thranduils’ strength as he fought him. Enjoying the feel of his body squirming and jerking beneath him, he was thankful once more for the final parting gift his last Herdir (Master) had given him. In his youth he was small and considered weak, almost frail and had never even held a sword or seen a battlefield. In a moment of weakness, his Herdir (Master) had gifted him with unnatural physical strength that had on different occasions proven to be both a blessing and a curse until he learned to master it.

“Ahhh!” Thranduil cried out, arching slightly as he felt those warm lips nipping and kissing the sensitive area of his groin between his sex and his thigh. His long fingers clawing at the softness of the furs beneath him as he instantly realized his mistake. Groaning shamelessly as the elf only leaned in, alternating between licking and sucking the sensitive flesh until he lay beneath him, weakened and trembling breathlessly.

“Your body was made for pleasure.” Cerályië nearly purred, his lips curling in a knowing smile as he moved back up over him. “Your pride screams for me to stop yet your body even your fäë (soul) begs to surrender to me.” He told him, releasing his wrists to slip his arms beneath his shoulders, cradling his head in his hands.

“I will find all of your secret places pirá neth (little one), this I can promise you.” He whispered as he captured his mouth in a long searching kiss.

“Yes.” Cerályië whispered to himself as he felt Thranduil surrender his mouth completely to him as his arms encircled him.

Entangling his fingers in the silky softness of his long dark tresses, Thranduil clung to him as he returned the kiss with a hunger of his own. Their bodies entwined as if they were lovers basking in the glow of their lovemaking and the warmth of the hearth, he savored the first tender moment between them. Numerous lovers had graced his bed over the many long years of his life, yet none of them had managed to reach so deeply into his fäë (soul) in such a way so as to drive him beyond desire as this beautiful dark elf.

Creeping cautiously into the room, Edicûve caught sight of the two bodies snuggled together before the hearth. A slight smile touched his lips as his gaze fell on the peaceful face of the Lord of the Keep, a soft expression he had not seen in many long years. Tensions among the villagers and the troops had lessened somewhat with his agreement to release Thranduil in the spring, yet looking at him now he feared the toll it would take on him.

Stiffening slightly as he came awake, every part of him alert Cerályië looked inward, sensing a presence in the room. Slowly opening his eyes, he glanced at the figure in the chair at his feet, recognizing him as Edicûve. Smiling at him as he hugged Thranduil closer to him, enjoying the feel of him as he squirmed, pressing his backside against his groin in his sleep.

Arching a delicate brow at his guard, he cautiously reached for the open tin of salve on the ledge in front of the hearth. Scooping out an ample portion, he coated his stiffening member, stroking himself to a full erection. Positioning himself carefully at his entrance, he pressed deeply into him. Hugging him tightly against himself as Thranduil cried out in a strangled mixture of pain, pleasure and surprise.

Twisting his head toward him, Thranduil was rewarded as the elf’s mouth covered his own, swallowing his whimpers and moans as he brought him so close only to stop, refusing him relief.

“Saes Herdir! Saes!” (Please Master, Please) He begged as he squirmed, struggling to rock against the impaling shaft.

“Ben iest gîn, pirá nîn zan kurv.” (As you wish, my little elf whore) He whispered softly in his ear as thrust forward, driving himself into the tight warm sheath until he felt him shudder as his release washed over him. Rolling him onto his stomach, he thrust harder and faster, seeking his own release, burying his face in the softness of his thick silver blonde hair as it washed over him.

Pushing himself up from the chair, Edicûve silently slipped out of the room and made his way to the kitchen. After nearly three millennia, he was well aware of Cerályiës’ customary routine, he would move to the bathing chamber and be ready for his breakfast when he was finished playing.

Stunned into silence as he realized what had just transpired, Thranduil felt his stomach twist in a tight painful knot as the elf pulled free of him and turned him onto his back. Not only had he openly begged him for release and called him master, he had done so of his own free will.

“Do you know that it makes you even more precious to me?” Cerályië told him as he gently lifted his chin, forcing him to look at him.

Frowning as Thranduil gazed into those deep blue eyes, normally dark and unreadable, they reflected the velvety blue of an evening sky filled with the bright sparkle of starlight. They were soft and warm as they flickered over his face before peering deeply into his own.

“Shh.” Cerályië soothed him as he kissed the tears that leaked from the corners of his beautiful sapphire eyes, now clouded with a silvery gray like the coming of a storm.

“Come, we will bathe together before we have our breakfast.” He told him quietly as he kissed his lips softly and rose to his feet, pulling him with him.

Subdued beneath the enormous weight of his thoughts and his predicament, Thranduil obediently followed him into the bathing chamber. He had felt a power within the elf that first night and wondered if he had been enchanted by him. Yet at the same time he felt conflicted because he had dealt with the older powers of the Vanyar in the past and knew they did not extend to the manipulation of the mind or the heart. He had begged and called him master of his own free will and he could not take it back.

Leading him down into the warm swirling water, Cerályië walked to the opposite side where the various bottles of scented soaps and shampoos were kept. Pulling him into a strong embrace, he was content for the moment to just hold him. Gently caressing his lower back, he sensed the confusion and the struggle within him. It had been a very long time since he had trained an unwilling slave, even then he had never trained a noble much less a king especially one with Thranduils’ reputation. Frowning deeply, Cerályië began to wonder about his past, the parts of it he was not familiar with, concern filled him as he thought of the nightmares he had pulled from him.

Releasing him, he collected two washing cloths’ from the basket and chose his preferred scent of the soothing aroma of Sólanäceae and sandalwood. Pouring a liberal amount on them, he placed one in Thranduils’ hand brought it to his own chest. Smiling warmly, he reached over and began washing Thranduils’ chest and shoulders. He had kept it playful, he did not resist as Thranduil walked him back toward the edge of the pool, the unmistakable look of desire in his now very clear sapphire eyes.

Cautiously Thranduil pushed him against the edge, lifting him up onto the side as he stared into the slightly widening eyes of his Herdir (Master). He wanted more than anything at that moment to bury himself deeply within him, to hear him cry out in ecstasy as he pleasured him. Yet, there was something in the depths of his eyes that stopped him. Using the backs of his fingers only, he gently ran his hand along the stiffened length of his member and smiled to himself as he saw him nod his permission. He knew he would suffer his punishment later but he didn’t care, he wanted him.

Gently guiding him down onto his back, Thranduil leaned down pulled the crown into his mouth. Grasping the shaft, he gently suckled the crown, swirling his tongue lavishly over the silken skin as he stroked him. Tracing his fingers teasingly over the trembling flesh of his lower belly, he slowly worked his way down the thick girth, pulling back to catch his breath and tease the crown with his tongue, he took his time pleasuring him. Enjoying the feel of his fingers as they tangled themselves in his hair, the sounds of his quickened breaths and soft moans. Relaxing his throat as he felt him thrusting forward, Thranduil held himself still as his Herdir (Master) plunged into his throat until he found his release.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this! I am having a lot of fun writing it and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!  
> A little insight on the character Cerályië. He is based on the main character, Vanyel Ashkeveron in Mercedes Lackey’s series “The Last Herald Mage”


	4. Secrets & Shifting Sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familial secrets are revealed as Lord Elrond visits Thranduils’ Halls. The search continues to find the Elvenking as despair hangs over the Woodland Realm. Thranduil senses changes in his captor and questions his feelings as he weighs his love for his son and his oath to the crown of the Woodland Realm.

The solemn mood among the Silvan elves of the Woodland Realm only deepened as the small party approached the narrow path leading to the gates of Thranduils’ Halls. The news of the death of Smaug had spread quickly as many had long looked upon the Lonely Mountain yet few were willing to face the wrath of the dragon. The loss of life among the peoples of Erebor had been heavy and many struggled to rebuild their lives in the wake of the battle in the shadows of that mountain.

The Lord of Imladris felt an ominous mood descend upon him as the formidable gates of the elven fortress home closed behind him. The passing of a new moon only deepened the sense of dread in the days following the accounting of the names of the dead. It was as if the light had dimmed as hope began to fade with each passing day with no sign of the Elvenking.

“Lord Elrond.” The tall golden haired Sindar greeted him as they entered the grand hall. “I am glad you came, my father awaits you in his council chamber.”

“Aldalómë.” Elrond replied with a strained smile, recognizing him as Thranduils’ Chief March Warden he returned the greeting with a strong embrace. “I came as soon as I heard. Where is Prince Legolas?” He asked as they made their way toward the lower levels of the fortress.

“He is in the kings’ chambers.” Aldalómë replied, his soft blue eyes held a faraway look in their depths as he cast a glance toward the dark haired lord. “His grief is matched only by his anger as my father has forbidden him to join the search.”

“Surely he must understand the situation.” Elrond stated, a deep frown creasing his brow. “If our worst fears are realized he must ascend to the throne.” 

“I will let my father explain everything.” Aldalómë stated, his tone heavy with an unreadable emotion as they reached the council chamber. “Please.” He waved his hand as he opened the large oaken door, ushering the lord inside.

“Elrond!” Lord Garävegión exclaimed, placing his goblet on the table as he rose from the chair in front of the glowing hearth. “I am so glad you came!”

Schooling his expression to hide his concern as the tall silver haired Sindar strode purposely toward him, Elrond could easily see the signs of stress etched deeply in his face. The normally cheerful blue gray eyes dimmed by a profound sadness.

“Word has spread far beyond Imladris my friend.” He said quietly, returning the strong embrace. “There is little I can do to help.” He added as they moved toward the hearth.

“There is little any of us can do at the moment.” Lord Garävegión sighed heavily as he waved for him to sit, pouring him a goblet of wine. “Unfortunately the battle in the shadow of the Lonely Mountain severely depleted our forces.” He began as he handed him the goblet and returned to the chair opposite him. “My son has assumed the role of strategist as my duties are now to Prince Legolas. Most of the patrols are still searching within the forest in case Thran...” His voice faltered for a moment, closing his eyes as if to steady himself.

“There was no sign of him on the plains in Erebor. We do not know for certain if he was injured and sought the cover within the trees. Aldalómë has organized small groups to search the plains again, beyond that we have no idea where to look. With winter now fully upon us, travel is too treacherous to search beyond the mountains.”

“How is Prince Legolas?” Elrond asked quietly, a sense of foreboding filling him. He was aware of the strong bond between his friend and his son and knew this was devastating to the young prince.

“As can be expected.” Lord Garävegión replied, pausing to take a long drink from his goblet. “I fear that he will not recover if anything should happen to Thranduil. Their bond is deeper than any I have seen. That is why I have asked you to come. He is far too angry with me to listen to reason.”

“We all have our duties. It will take time but the prince will come to understand this.” Elrond stated in the most confident tone he could muster under the circumstances. “You have been Thranduils’ right hand since the beginning Garävegión. The realm is safe in your hands, I will deal with the prince.”

“How is he?” Elrond asked the guard as he entered antechamber just outside of the Thranduils’ private chambers.

“He has locked himself inside, no one has seen him for three days and we’ve heard no sound since yesterday.” Thalieth replied, the worry radiating from his deep green eyes.

“Get someone here that can open this door now!” Elrond snapped much more harshly than he had intended.

Horrified at what he might find once he entered, he struggled to close his mind against the images that threatened his ability to think straight. He understood the bond between the two of them better than anyone and feared the worse as he waited impatiently for the guard to return to gain access to the room. If his feelings were correct, the situation may already be beyond his ability to repair.

 

“I have no doubts that I will anger him even more.” Elrond sighed, glancing at Thalieth as the small elf seemed to be doing his best to pick the lock. “I do not want to be disturbed regardless of what you might hear.” He stated more firmly as the elf looked up at him and nodded.  
“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, My Lord) Thalieth stated as Elrond opened the door and slipped quietly inside.

Thranduils’ private rooms were sprawling and decorated with a splendor that was as regal as the king himself. The large public sitting room was uncharacteristically dark and chilled with no lanterns or a fire in the grand hearth. Frowning deeply as he fumbled his way toward the hearth from memory, he felt along the mantle for the flint he knew would be there and set about the task of lighting the fire. Quickly lighting a few of the lanterns, he picked up one and made his way toward the smaller more private sitting room. As dark as the larger room, Elrond feared the prince had somehow managed to get past the guards and had gone in search of his father by himself.

Pausing to light a single lantern, Elrond cautiously approached the closed door to Thranduils’ bed chamber. Testing the handle he was relieved to find that it was not locked, he turned it quietly and entered the darkened room. In the dim light cast by the single lantern, he could see the pile of rumpled blankets and clothing in the middle of the enormous four poster bed that dominated the room. Walking silently toward it, he felt a tightening in his chest as he saw the naked form of the prince with his face buried in a dark blue evening robe, his fingers clutching the material as if his life depended on it.

“Well, at least you’re still here.” He thought with much relief as he felt his neck for signs of life then turned away from the heartbreaking view before him.

Glancing about the floor, the light of the lantern reflected on a number of what appeared to be empty wine bottles surrounded by a dark stain on the floor, accounting for the strong smell of stale wine. With a deep sigh he set about the task of making the rooms more comfortable before he attempted to rouse him from what was clearly a drunken stupor.

Legolas clung the soft silk of his fathers’ favorite evening robe. Burying his face deeply within the folds, he breathed in the sweet scent of him, mingled with his favorite soap, the scent of sandalwood and the subtle scent of Niphredil, the white star flowers found throughout the forest. The ache in his heart only deepened as images of his father floated through his mind, elegant, regal, confident and proud king and protector of the Woodland Realm.

Yet those were not the source of his pain as memories began to filter through the fog in his mind, to him he was so much more. He was his strength, his everything, all his life his father had been there for him. He longed to hear the sound of his clear baritone voice, to feel his strong arms around him, comforting him, to look upon his beautiful face and to see the light of the stars in his eyes when he smiled.

“Legolas?”

Moaning softly, Legolas shifted slightly on the bed, pulling even more of the crumpled robes into his arms. Struggling toward the sound as his heart beat wildly in his chest, Legolas could see his father leaning down over him. Smiling mischievously with a light dancing in the depths of his beautiful sapphire eyes as he gently shook him, trying to wake him. It was a game they played when he was not required to go on patrols. He would pretend to oversleep so his father would have to come to his rooms and wake him for their morning meal together.

“Wake up Legolas.” The voice insisted impatiently.

“Ada!” He cried out with the excitement of a child as the sound of the deep musical voice finally penetrated the fog in his mind.

“I knew you would come back!” He exclaimed as he leaped up from the bed, wrapping his arms around his neck. “I’ve been so worried!” He cried, his entire body trembled as he clung to him.

“Leg...”

Shocked beyond thought Elrond reflexively wrapped his arms around the slender form of the young elf who now kissed him with the passion of a desperate lover. The lithe body pressed itself tighter against the length of his own as his hot little tongue thrust itself deeply into his mouth, ravishing it hungrily.

“Legolas!” Elrond shouted as he forcibly pried the clinging elf from him. “Wake up!”

“What!?!” Legolas exclaimed angrily as he was literally tossed back onto the bed. “How did you get in here?! Get out!” He demanded as he threw himself back amongst the soft silks of his fathers’ clothing, burying his face from view.

“I am not going anywhere and you are getting out of that bed.” Elrond stated as he grasped one of his wrists, pulling the young prince to the edge of the bed.

“Leave me alone!” Legolas screamed as struggled to free himself from the strong grasp of the older elf.

Crying out as a sudden sharp pain stung the side of his face, he turned back glaring angrily at the stoic expression on the dark haired elf’s face. “How dare you!” He hissed as he touched his face where the older elf had so cruelly slapped him.

“You are not yourself.” Elrond stated, guarding his expression as he looked at the pitiful sight before him. The angry eyes that glared at him were red and swollen from what appeared to have been days of weeping. Yet deep within the pale blue pools, he could see such pain and sadness.

“I’m sorry Legolas.” He said as he sat down on the edge of the bed, taking his hand in his. “You need to find something to put on. We need to talk.”

“They found him.” Legolas choked out, staring at him as his eyes widened. “He’s dead isn’t he?” He asked, his voice cracking as his whole body began to tremble.

“No! No, Legolas, we don’t know that!” Elrond exclaimed quickly as he drew him in his arms, the father in him wanting nothing more than to comfort him. “We have to believe he is still alive.” He told him as he hugged him close, smoothing the tangled mess of silvery blonde hair.

“Come.” He said quietly after long moments. “You must get dressed so we can talk.” He told him, placing a fatherly kiss on the top of his head.

~*~  
As the days passed Thranduil struggled more and more with himself, who he knew he was and what he saw himself becoming. It was only his deep love for his son and his strong sense of duty that kept him from completely submitting to the beautiful dark elf. The punishments he endured grew less and less cruel and seemed more as something that was pleasing to the elf, they stirred the strange feelings with him, triggering his old dark nightmares yet he could not remember them when he awoke.

Snuggling closer against the front of the chair, he twisted his head slightly in his lap, through the veil of his dark lashes, he admired the beauty of the dark elf as he gazed absently into the hearth. In the dimmed lighting the elf preferred in the evenings, his deep blue eyes seemed as black as the rich dark tresses that now spilled down over his shoulders. Thranduil had seen them darken like that in his anger, then brighten with the light of stars hidden deep within them. Dropping his gaze to his full lips, the dusky color enhanced by his fair skin, he felt a stirring in his groin.

Closing his eyes, he found a strange sense of comfort as the elf absently ran his fingers through his hair. He sensed a subtle change, not only in the elf but the guards as well, unfortunately it revealed nothing to him. The elf had grown somewhat silent toward him, his unreadable gaze seemed to study him more intently as he fed him his evening meal. The strange tension building between them confused him, marked by the subtle changes in the way the elf treated him.

Startled from his thoughts as the elf rose to his feet, Thranduil offered no resistance as he took his hand and led him to the furs as he did every night. Firm yet gentle hands guided him down onto his back, stretching out beneath him as the elf stood over him, he resisted the urge to smile as he watched him slowly remove his robes. Already fully erect, Thranduil felt the ache in his groin deepen as he watched him stroke himself slowly, his dusky lips parting slightly, teasing him even more as the tip of his tongue licked slowly over them like a cat anticipating a bowl of cream.

Lowering himself onto the furs, Cerályië paused on his hands and knees, letting his gaze trail over his face. Smiling to himself as he rested his gaze on the sapphire eyes that stared boldly up at him. He could feel and smell his sweet breath as he watched the silver ring blur and spread like storm clouds. Dropping his gaze to those soft pinkish lips, slightly parted as the tip of his tongue barely revealing itself as it rested teasingly just inside.

“Pirá celebmîr nîn.” (My little silver treasure) He whispered to himself as he leaned closer, teasing his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Oh yes.” He thought to himself as he felt him open his mouth to him, yet brazenly thrust his tongue upward into his mouth. Entwined, he savored the taste of him as their tongues slithered and teased each other for long moments. He knew Thranduil could not fully submit to him and in his heart he hoped he never would.

Reluctantly pulling away from him, he reached for the blindfold he kept nearby. A soft whimper pulling his attention back to his face, he frowned inwardly as he looked into those pleading eyes. Studying him with earnest as he considered the situation, he knew Thranduil hated the blindfold.

“I should punish you mûl pirá nîn for your disobedience.” (My little slave) He told him as he dropped the blindfold, noting the relief that spread quickly over his beautiful face. “I will let you dwell on what I might do to you.” He told him, his tone thick and sultry as he recaptured his mouth in a hard demanding kiss.

Gasping for breath, Thranduil dug his fingers into the thickness of the furs as the elf released his mouth only bury his face in his neck, biting the soft flesh just below his ear. Clenching his jaw to keep from crying out he groaned softly as he felt him pressing himself tighter to him, rocking gently against his aching groin. Closing his eyes as he felt him tenderly kiss the wound he had inflicted, the pain then tenderness was maddening in ways he couldn’t understand.

Trembling as the long tresses of his silken hair teased his skin as he felt him move lower, kissing the hollow at the base of his throat before moving on to the tiny buds of his nipples. Stiffening as he felt him suckle gently at first, bracing himself for the pain as the suction slowly intensified soliciting a whimper from him before moving to the other. His entire body now trembling as he moved lower, raking his nails along his sides and down over his hips, Thranduil released a breath he had not realized he was holding.

Glancing up at him for a brief moment, Cerályië turned toward the hearth and dipped a finger in the small tin of herbal salve. Meeting his gaze, he adjusted his position by using his knees to spread his thighs. Encircling only the crown of his sex in his mouth, Cerályië swirled his tongue over the silken skin, savoring the taste of him before slowly taking in the length of him. Pressing his face into the trembling flesh of his lower belly, he suckled slowly as he sought out the small wrinkled muscle and entered him.

Moaning shamelessly, Thranduil rocked his hips forward as the elf slipped his finger past the flexing muscle and moved straight toward the spot that sent jolts of pleasure through him. Deep groans boiled in his throat as the elf tormented him, repeatedly bringing him almost the brink only to deny the full pleasure of release.

“Saes Herdir, saes.” (Please Master, please) He heard himself beg softly when he thought he could take no more.

Nearly melting at the sweet sound of his plea, Cerályië slipped a third finger deeply within him as he closed his lips more firmly around the girth of his sex. Suckling him in earnest, he smiled to himself as he felt his body stiffen slightly. Swirling his tongue over the length of him as he pleasured him, listening to his ragged breaths as his hips jerked forward, rewarding him with his sweet nectar.

Releasing him as he moved up over him, he slipped his arms beneath his shoulders, cradling his head in his hands as he captured his mouth in tender yet searching kiss. All too aware of his own aching need, yet he held back as he dipped his tongue into the warmth of his mouth, entwining playfully with his. He had learned ages ago the body could be taught or trained to respond in whatever way the master chose, for him there was far more intimacy in a kiss and to Cerályië, Thranduils’ kiss felt as if it reached into his very fäë (soul).

Reluctantly he slowly released his mouth, placing a soft kiss on his lips before pushing himself up onto his knees. Turning his gaze away from his face, he repositioned him on his stomach and lifted his hips upward, even with his groin. Sliding his thumbs down the length of the cleft, he gently rubbed the exposed wrinkled pink muscle, smiling openly as he heard him moan as he teased him. Positioning himself, he pressed slowly into him, savoring the feel of that tight ring as he stretched him, sliding slowly into the hot velvety sheath of his flesh. Sucking on his lower lip to stifle his groans, he watched as he pleasured himself, taking him in long slow even strokes, pulling almost free of him before pressing deeply back into him.

Reaching down, Cerályië pulled him up on his knees and hugged him tightly to his chest as he continued to rock against him. Kissing his ear as he tried to turn his face toward him, he held him, struggling to hold onto the moment as the tension built within him. Burying his face in the softness of his silvery blonde tresses, he breathed in the scent of him as he reached his pinnacle, filling him with his release.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brings in two additional canon characters, Lord Elrond and Prince Legolas. It also introduces additional author created characters.
> 
> It is a bit of a struggle to get through it only because the goal here is aiding reader imagination while avoiding outright smut. Not that I don’t enjoy a well-balanced story with ‘dirty words and smutty’ scenes, it’s just not the goal for the majority of my writings.
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading this! Comments are always welcome and responded to in kind.


	5. Bittersweet the Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas agrees to rule as Regent in the absence of his father as the search for the missing king continues. Hope fades as Thranduil attempts to seduce his captor into letting him go. Haunted by his memories, Cerályië battles ancient demons.

“And you know this for certain?” Cerályië asked after long moments, turning his attention back to his commanding officer.

“Ayë.” (Yes) Elaéyadär replied. “The prince refuses to accept the crown, announcing that he will rule only as Regent until the kings’ return.”

“You trust this source?” Cerályië pressed as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk.

“It’s not just one source.” Elaéyadär stated, meeting the lords gaze evenly. “There was talk of it in both Dale and the new settlement of Lake Town. My captain confirmed it when he overheard a conversation at the Half Barrel Inn just south of Esgaroth. He recognized the speaker as the kings’ Chief March Warden, Aldalómë.”

“I see.” Cerályië sighed heavily, his gaze turning inward as his thoughts turned to Thranduil and how quickly the time had passed. “What else did you hear?” He asked, forcing his thoughts back to the present situation.

“The Prince has ordered the forest patrols doubled in their efforts against the shelob (spiders). If he were injured, the king would more than likely have sought refuge within the forest. They feel he would be in most in danger there.” Elaéyadär stated, shaking his head. “If that had been the case, alone and possibly injured he would not have survived against the shelob (spiders). Yet it gives them hope that they have found nothing.”

“No.” Cerályië stated firmly as he pushed himself up from his desk. “The forest protects him, they all know this.” He continued as he walked toward the hearth. “Are you sure they have not been alerted to our presence?” He asked quietly, narrowing his eyes as he turned back to the commander.

“There is much chaos in Esgaroth with the rebuilding. Many seem to be flowing into the region in hopes of sharing in the wealth.” Elaéyadär replied, shaking his head. “Most of our people have already reached the shores of the Sea of Rhûn.”

“And our negotiations with Lord Dain?” Cerályië asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Honored as we anticipated.” Elaéyadär stated, leaning back in the settee as he studied the Lord of the Keep. “The dwarf has kept his word and Elian assures the keep will be ready by the turn of the new moon.”

“Thank you Elaéyadär.” He said quietly, smiling softly. “That will be all.” He added as he turned away from him to gaze into the flames in the hearth.

“Oh my sweet treasure, I shall miss you to the depths of my heart.” He sighed heavily to himself as he heard the door close quietly behind the commander.

“It was nothing but a fools dream.” He stated angrily, shaking himself as he quickly exited his study. Snatching his cloak, he clutched it tightly about himself as he retreated to the ramparts of the Keep.

Unable to stop them, the tears rolled freely down his cheeks, his gaze peered unseeing toward the night sky as memories long buried and thought to be forgotten now flooded through him. He had survived centuries of the horrors of Annûmëä, the fledgling necromancer of Ettenmoors in the shadow of the Mountains of Angmar. In a moment of weakness, Cerályië would not call love for the dark one knew nothing of such things, besotted only by his beauty, Annûmëä had let his guard down. It had been easy to strike out, to destroy him.

No, the revenge that had been his armor for centuries, fueled by his hatred was not for Annûmëä but for the one who had stolen his heart with so many promises only to abandon him, shattering his dreams. Learning of his death should have been a joyous occasion yet he had felt nothing, only emptiness until the nightmares returned. Forcing him to relive the almost overwhelming pain that coursed through him the moment he struck Annûmëä down, a fire that burned him to his very fäë (soul) and forever marked him.

Turning away from the darkening evening sky, Cerályië was filled with the closest thing to hope he had felt for many long years, believing that perhaps the fates had decided to smile upon him at last. However bittersweet the dream, he would keep his promise and release Thranduil at the appointed time. While his time with him was short, he would treasure the light within him that chased away the shadows, comforting himself in the knowledge that he was still capable of feeling love.

Striding purposefully toward the far end of the dungeons, he paused briefly to collect himself before quietly entering. Motioning for Edicûve to remain seated, he pulled off his cloak and draped it over the settee as he made his way to the bathing chamber. Cold water would have been the better choice, but the warm would have to do as he washed away the traces of his tears, steeling himself for the last few weeks left of his time with him.

Tensing as he heard him enter, Thranduil forced himself to remain still, controlling his breathing to appear as though he was asleep. Yet his mind raced with the desperate need to find a way out. While he was able to mark the passing of one day into the next, with no way recording the passing, there was no way of knowing how long he had been held captive. The elf no longer secured him to the small bed in the evenings, yet he was never left alone and was not permitted to roam freely about the room.

Tears stung the backs of his eyes as he thought of his woodland home but mostly of his son, the ache in his heart had grown unbearable. Submitting to the elf at first had been simply a matter of survival, in hopes of earning some level of trust to glean even the slightest bit of information that would help him find a way out. When they did speak to each other during the times they thought he was asleep, they spoke in a language he was only vaguely familiar with, an ancient tongue no longer spoken anywhere to his knowledge.

Over time Thranduil had managed to pick out enough words to understand that his presence there was the source of the shift he felt earlier. They spoke of a time that was older than even what he knew about his father and place he had not heard of before. The guards seemed angry with the elf, mostly the one he knew as Edicûve, yet it was easy for Thranduil to see that both of them were completely devoted to protecting the elf making it impossible for him to sway either one into helping him.

“You may leave us now.” He said quietly, smiling at Edicûve as he returned to the main room. “I wish to be left alone until morning.”

Nodding, Edicûve rose to his feet, pausing only long enough to clasp his friends shoulder in a brief gesture of understanding before departing.

Admiring the long slender frame as he slowly peeled himself out his robes, Cerályië smiled as his gaze lingered on his peacefully sleeping face. The beguiling chiseled features were slightly softened in his slumber, his lightly parted lips only enhancing his seductive appearance. Long tresses of silvery blonde hair spilled over his shoulders onto the furs giving him somewhat of an otherworldly quality.

His soft smile turned mischievous as he lowered himself down over him, feeling him stiffen at first as he pushed him onto his back. Resting his full weight on top of him, he reached up and gently brushed the stray tresses from his face. Nipping his chin playfully as he felt him place his hands gently on his hips.

Thranduil only smiled softly as he lifted his hands, running his fingers through the long silken tresses. Cupping his face in his hands, he drew his thumbs gently over his full lips as he caressed the soft flesh of his neck with his fingertips. He desired him yes, but not as a slave neither did he want to master him. He knew he risked punishment or worse isolation from him yet he pulled his face toward him, pressing his lips his for long moments. Sighing inwardly as he felt him relax and open his mouth to him, he hesitantly slipped his tongue inside not wanting to push him any farther than he wanted.

“Damn you!” Cerályië cursed him silently even as he surrendered his mouth to him.

“Saes Herdir.” (Please Master) Thranduil whispered, breaking the kiss after long moments yet brushing his lips as he spoke. “I cannot stay here.” He said quietly, his voice thick with emotion as he felt the tears leak silently from the corners of his eyes.

Pulling back from him, Cerályië could feel the pain in his voice as he stared silently into those clear sapphire eyes, now glistening with unshed tears.

“Believe me.” Thranduil began, his voice raspy with emotion as he paused to swallow the lump in his throat. “If this were another place, in another time. I could easily love you with all my heart. But I have a son, a beautiful son who I love and miss more than anything in this world.”

“I cannot let you go.” He said quietly. “At least not yet.” He added silently to himself, hating the tears that stung the backs of his own eyes as he looked down at the anguish on Thranduils’ face.

“Daedalus!” He called out, clamping down on his emotions as he pushed himself away from him and rose to his feet.

“Ayë hîr vuin.” (Yes my lord) The guard answered as he quickly entered the room.

“Dorinäélin and Edicûve, get them now.” Cerályië stated without taking his eyes off Thranduil. “Do not attempt to trick me with your words.” He stated as the guard left to do his bidding. “It is not your love I seek but your submission.” He continued, his tone growing deeper as he glared down at him. “I have neglected your training but I can easily remedy that.”

Thranduil felt the heat of his anger rise quickly as he glared back at him. Thoughts of Legolas, the pain and the loss he must be feeling filled him, knowing what he in particular had to be going through since his captivity propelled him forward with the intent of somehow overpowering the elf in spite of his unnatural strength.

Crying out as pain wracked his body, Thranduil felt the wind knocked out of him as he was thrown back in a crumpled heap on the floor. Gasping for breath, he stared in wide-eyed bewilderment at the elf as he struggled to understand what had just happened as he had not seen the elf even move toward him much less strike him. The beautiful face was frozen as if it had suddenly turned to stone as black eyes stared back at him without feeling.

“Get him on the horse.” Cerályië stated as the two guards hurriedly entered the room, his tone was as cold as his expression.

Recoiling instinctively as they approached him, Thranduil felt true fear for the first time since he had been taken captive. With the exception of that first day, until now the elf had only taunted him, played with him, even scolding him as if he little more than a misbehaving child. Remembering once more having sensed a power within him, something that lingered just beneath the surface. Weakened by the blow, his efforts were futile as the guards subdued him, dragging his struggling body toward the leather covered piece of furniture he had only experienced once before.

“I cannot let you love me.” Cerályië told him silently, tears stinging the backs of his eyes as he watched him fight the guards as they laid him over the padded hip support and stretched his arms forward, securing his wrists in the leather cuffs affixed to the wall in front of him. They spread his legs, securing his ankles to the thick oaken supports and buckled his hips tightly in place to keep him from moving. 

“Long ago someone much like yourself taught me the truth about love.” He told him as he reached out, raking his nails down his back and over the flesh of his backside. “I learned that lesson well, love is nothing but a fools dream.” He stated, bringing his hand down hard on one side of the bare flesh of his backside, soliciting a sharp and painful yelp. “As tempting as you are my sweet pirá mûl (little slave), I will not be fooled again.” He said, dropping another hard blow to the other side, swallowing the lump in his throat as Thranduil cried out once more.

“Saes Herdir!” (Please Master) Thranduil choked out as he continued to struggle against the leather cuffs that bound him.

“How easily you pretend to know your place when you want something from me.” He taunted him even as he struggled to compose himself, thankful that Thranduil could not see him. “I told you before, I derive as much pleasure from your pain as I do your pleasure.” He continued, his tone was quiet as he thought about those tender evenings he had shared with him in front of the hearth, how willing and easily his body had responded to him.

Struggling to gain control of himself, Thranduils’ anger continued to rise, both toward the elf and himself for acting so rash. Dropping his head down onto his outstretched arms, he concentrated on his breathing, trying to squash the fear that churned in his stomach and rose like bile in his throat. His own thoughts mirroring Cerályiës’ as he unwillingly thought of how the elf had felt in his arms, the tender kisses they had shared in front of the hearth. Something deep inside him told him the elf would not truly harm him and he clung to that feeling, praying that it would sustain him for what he knew was coming.

Picking up the leather strap, he brought it down hard across his backside, cringing inwardly as Thranduils’ sudden scream filled the room. He reached out impulsively to gently touch the bright red stripe across creamy flesh of his backside, the soft skin was so warm as the blood rushed to the surface.

Again the strap fell brutally biting into his flesh as he heard himself scream. Over and over they fell, his body arching painfully until his screams faded into hoarse gasps against a parched throat. Trembling uncontrollably, he lay across the padded support, exhausted from both the pain and his struggles. Tears flowed freely down his face, each one glinting in the lamplight as they fell in tiny droplets like stars falling from the evening sky. Tears of pain, sorrow and the cruelty of his humiliation as he realized the elf was not finished with him.

“I will not always have the time to properly prepare you.” He heard the elf’s voice as he felt him spread the familiar herbal save liberally over his entrance. Painful whimpers escaped his lips as he felt his finger thrust into him with none of the previous gentleness. All too quickly it was joined by the second then the third as he worked him, stretching him. Gasping as he felt him penetrate him like a spear as he buried himself completely in one hard thrust. There was no gentleness, no love, nothing but an animalistic rutting as he raped him.

“You are now nothing more than a vessel for my pleasure.” Cerályië stated as he pulled free of him. Although he had relieved himself, there was no feeling of satisfaction or pleasure in what he had done. “This will make sure you are always ready to receive me.” He told him as he picked up the leather covered wooden phallus, pressing it into the already abused and swollen entrance. Slipping the thin leather strap through the slot on the exposed portion, he buckled it to the strap running across his hips to ensure he would be unable to expel it.

“Try to get some sleep if you can.” He told him, patting him on the head as if he were nothing more than a favored pet. “I will see you tomorrow.”

~*~  
“Thank you for staying as long as you have Lord Elrond.” Legolas said quietly, casting him a slight smile that did not reach his pale blue eyes as they left the council room.

“I will be here as long as you need me Legolas.” Elrond told him, clasping his shoulder firmly. “In truth, Imladris will be fine without me. Erestor can handle things quite well in my absence. Your father is one of my closest friends and I will not leave his son in his time of need.”

“My father always speaks very highly of you.” Legolas commented as they made their way toward his private chambers. “I know the Lord Garävegión also served under my grandfather which makes him far more qualified to handle these things than I right now.”

“Your mind and heart are understandably elsewhere right now.” Elrond stated, smiling warmly at him. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing remarkably well under the circumstances.” He added as they entered the antechamber that divided his private rooms from those of his father.

“Rûingäraf.” Legolas acknowledged the guard as he opened the door for them.

“Hîr vuin.” (My Lord) The guard responded quietly, pulling the door closed behind them.

“Galion.” Legolas greeted his fathers’ personal servant quizzically as they entered his pubic sitting room.

“Hîr vuin, (My Lord) your meeting went well past the midday meal.” Galion said quietly, wringing his hands a bit nervously as his gaze flickered between the two. “I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of bringing you something and I put a kettle of tea in the hearth in case you wanted it.”

“Thank you Galion.” Legolas shook his head yet smiled warmly at the servant. “I appreciate it but I am not my father, you need not fuss over me so much.”

“It is not a bother.” Galion replied quickly. “I don’t mind at all, actually I am in desperate need of something to occupy my time.”

“Well, I thank you.” Legolas repeated himself, still smiling. “I assure you, I will have no further need of you this evening.”

“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, my lord) Galion stated, nodding in a respectful bow and quickly departed.

“This is difficult for everyone.” Elrond stated as they moved toward the two chairs in front of the hearth. “Perhaps so much more so for you.” He continued as he noted the two tea cups on the low table between the chairs and stepped closer to the hearth, cautiously touching the tea kettle to measure its readiness.

“His is my Adar (Father), yes I would feel his absence doubly so.” Legolas sighed heavily as he sank down into the comfort of the worn chair.

“Only doubly?” Elrond asked, arching a brow as he poured them both a cup of the tea.

The air hung heavily between them for long moments as the older elf returned the tea kettle to the hook in the hearth. Making himself comfortable in the chair opposite him, one corner of his full lips curling in a knowing smile.

“I have already explained, I was drunk and it was nothing more than a fantasy.” Legolas stated defensively as he leaned forward to retrieve the tea cup, wishing it was a goblet of his fathers’ strong Dorwinion wine instead. “He is my father it is natural that I would love him very much. He is very beautiful and I’m sure more than half the kingdom romanticizes about him.” He added, feeling the now familiar heat of his embarrassment rising from beneath the high collar of his formal robes.

“I’m sure you’re right.” He replied, watching him from over the rim of his cup as he took a sip. Smiling to himself as he recalled the conversation with Thranduil a few years ago. Looking at him now in a different light as he remembered the passionate kiss only a couple of days ago, he more than understood the attraction.

“Romanticize is an interesting choice of words.” Elrond continued, paused to take a sip of the tea. “I think you should know that your father came to me a few years ago. He was concerned about his feelings for you.”

The tea cup rattled noisily as Legolas hand trembled, his pale blue eyes widening conspicuously as he stared at the older elf. He felt his stomach turn into a jumble of knots as the knowing smile curled the other elf’s lips, the soft gray eyes seemed to study him in that way that only Elrond could as if he could see right into your fäë (soul).

“The bond between you and your father is stronger than any I have seen.” Elrond stated, smiling warmly as he watched the color creep into the young elf’s fair cheeks. “He fantasized about you long before he had any inkling that you would be amicable to his advances. I wasn’t sure until I arrived here that he had actually acted on those feelings.”

“So you know.” Legolas stated, looking away from him as his shoulders slumped under the weight of his drunken confession.

“I know Thranduil.” Elrond chuckled at the discomfort the young elf displayed. “Once his mind is made up on something, he will act as he sees fit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading this! My goal is to add at least one chapter each week until the story can come to a conclusion. As always, comments are welcome and always responded to.


	6. By the Light of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As hope begins to fade for the return of their beloved king, the council prepares for the worst. After receiving news from his comrades within the patrols, Legolas defies the order to remain within the fortress and sets out to find his father.

Slowly, as the last dregs of sleep drifted from him, Thranduil became aware of the softness of down feathers cradling his body. He felt nothing but the same heaviness pressing in on him that he had felt when he awakened that first day that now seemed so long ago. Stiffening as he felt the icy fingers of fear twisting in his lower belly, he struggled to clear his mind of the lingering fog of sleep, he turned his thoughts inward. The memory of the elf’s sudden anger at him was clear in his mind yet it felt almost distant, the pain and soreness that wracked his body was gone. The beatings had been brutal but it was the rape that would leave the deepest and lasting scars.

Warily opening his eyes, his vision focused on the polished oaken canopy above him. Forcing himself to remain still, he glanced toward the crackling sound in the hearth, he caught sight of the dark elf seated silently in a chair in front of it. Illuminated only by the flames in the hearth, he appeared soft in an ethereal way with his elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin resting on the back of his fingers as he curled his hand in a loose fist, his other hand hidden in his lap behind his crossed legs. The long ebony tresses cascaded over his shoulders, spilling into a pile around his slender hips in the chair. Trailing his gaze upward toward his face, he paused at the slender neck. Frowning slightly as he drank in the beautiful oval face, noting the glistening trails down his cheeks as silent tears slipped freely from his half closed eyes.

Drawn toward him yet repelled by him at the same time, Thranduil wanted to hate him for what he had done to him. His frown deepened as he struggled with the urge to go to him, comfort him from whatever darkness it was that seemed to haunt him. He found himself wanting to look into his eyes again, to see the beautiful spray of starlight when he smiled. Against his will he felt his desire stirring as he recalled the many nights they had lain together on the furs, warmed by the hearth and the heat of their desire for each other. Confused, he questioned his feelings as he struggled with just when his obedience to him evolved from a basic need to survive to conscious willful submission.

“Are you hungry?” Cerályië asked quietly as he rose from the chair and walked toward him. “I’m surprised.” He added when Thranduil only shook his head. “You have been asleep for a few days, you should be starving.” He told him, smiling softly as he sat down on the edge of the bed next to him.

Frowning, Thranduil said nothing as he let his gaze trail over the elf’s upper body, now fully exposed to him as the loosely tied house robe fell open. The soothing fragrance of Sólanäceae mingled with the stronger scent of Sandalwood wafted to him as the elf moved closer, resting his hand lightly on his chest.

“Our time together grows short.” Cerályië told him, studying his face as he caressed the length of his jawline with the tip of his finger. “Shh.” He smiled, pressing a gentle finger on his lips when Thranduil opened his mouth to speak. “In another place or another time you would not be a king. Oh how I would have cherished you...” He said in a voice that was barely above a whisper, his words trailing off as the lump in his throat returned.

“And what of love?” Thranduil asked as he reached up, pressing the elf’s fingers tighter against his lips, kissing the tips.

“The fates care not for love.” Cerályië sighed heavily yet smiled warmly as he traced a fingertip over the soft moist lips. “For my part, I will find solitude on the arms of my slaves. But you...” He paused, leaning down to kiss him softly. “You still have a chance to find that dream one day.” He said, brushing the trembling lips as he spoke.

Relaxing in the strong arms that suddenly embraced him, Cerályië closed his eyes and offered no resistance as Thranduil pulled him into the bed and rolled on top of him. He felt the sting of his tears as he clung to him, surrendering to the searching kiss that ravished his mouth hungrily. He knew from the beginning it had been foolish of him to even think he could have kept him there, yet he would treasure every moment he had spent with the beautiful king.

“If this were another place, in another time. I could easily love you with all my heart.” Those words had haunted his thoughts and dreams as he waited for him to rest and heal from the punishment he did not deserve. In just a few short days he would take him to the appointed place where he would be returned to the world where he belonged, a world far away from him.

Although his heart was heavy, Cerályië clung to him, arching as the hot mouth slowly kissed the length of his body. Gasping softly as he willingly spread his legs as Thranduil moved lower, gently sucking on the crown of his sex, swirling his tongue teasingly around it, sending jolts of pleasure through him. His fingers trembled as caressed his cheeks only to tangle themselves in his hair as he slowly pulled the length of him into the warmth of his mouth. Moaning softly, he rocked his hips forward as the tension built with him.

Pulling free of him, Thranduil smiled at the startled expression on his face as he moved up over him. “I want to make love to you.” He said quietly as he leaned down, kissing his parted lips, dipping his tongue deeply in his mouth. “I want to be inside you when you surrender to me.” He whispered teasing his lips as he spoke.

“On headboard.” Cerályië told him softly as he took his face in his hands, kissing him fiercely.

Looking toward the headboard, Thranduil saw the familiar tin of herbal salve. Stretching over him, he retrieved it and settled back down on the bed between his thighs. Scooping out a liberal amount, he tossed the tin aside as he looked up at him. Smiling softly as he slipped his finger beneath his ball sack, he easily found the wrinkled muscle and spread the salve over it before pressing firmly into the tight entrance.

Taking his time as he watched him, enjoying the blissful expression spread across his beautiful face as he gently slipped a second finger into him. Smiling as he watched him close his eyes, the pink tongue flicker over his dusky full lips in anticipation. Slipping a third finger alongside the first two, he carefully relaxing the grip of the tight ring, preparing him to accept him.

Pulling free of him, he moved up over him and turned him onto his side, pushing the soft house robe up out of his way as he pressed the length of his body along his. Guiding himself in place, he reached over his hips to grasp the length of his sex as he pressed into him. Burying his face in his neck as he pressed his groin tightly against the firm flesh of his backside, he held himself still for long moments as he leisurely stroked the elf’s swollen shaft. 

Cerályië whimpered softly, his entire body shuddered as the long thickness entered him for the first time in many long years. Reaching up, he caressed the softness of Thranduils’ cheek as the pleasurable weakness flowed down his legs. Slowly as he felt him rock against him, each thrust pulling a groan from deep inside him, as the tension built, Cerályië surrendered his body to him completely.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Thank you for joining me Elrond.” Lord Garävegión sighed deeply as the servant nodded a polite bow and disappeared, closing the door behind him. “I thought it more prudent we first discuss this matter in private.”

“Of course.” Elrond replied, a slight frown forming on his brow as he moved further into the lords private sitting room. “Aldalómë.” He nodded respectfully, noticing the young March Warden who stood anxiously at the corner of the hearth.

“Please.” Lord Garävegión began, waving toward the chair opposite him. “It has been more than four moons. I fear we must prepare ourselves for the reality that Thranduil may be lost to us.” He sighed heavily as he sank back down in his chair.

“No! We cannot give up hope!” Elrond exclaimed, his eyes widening as he glanced quickly between the two.

“We will never give up hope.” Aldalómë stated firmly, his expression guarded. “My father has always been the pragmatic one but his advice is sound and has served the realm well in the past. Our forces are stretched to the limit as it is. The destruction of Smaug has left Esgaroth in much disorder with the arrival many from other lands. It grows more and more difficult to distinguish between fact and rumor.”

“What have you heard?” Elrond asked, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back in the chair. His heart ached at the thought of losing one of his closest friends, particularly when that loss left so many unanswered questions.

“If we are to believe the rumors...” Lord Garävegión began, glancing at his son briefly.

“I saw them with my own eyes.” Aldalómë interrupted him angrily, clearly struggling with his emotions.

“Who did you see?” Elrond asked, noting the brief flash of a very deep pain in the young march wardens’ eyes before he could conceal it.

“A slave trader known as Crevan from Harad.” Aldalómë stated, his voice heavy with anger. “At first I thought nothing of it as he is known to travel these parts. It was his meeting with Egan that bothered me. He is a Northman often seen in the company of Lochinvar of the Ettenmoors known for his preference of elves as slaves.”

Closing his eyes, he cringed at the horrible images that flashed through his mind, Elrond felt as if the world had dropped from beneath him. If Thranduil had fallen into the hands of slave traders his fate was now in the hands of powers greater than their own. As the Elvenking, they would be able to attract the attention of those with more than enough wealth to pay whatever they asked.

“We will keep this from Legolas until it can no longer be hidden from him.” Elrond stated, his eyes narrowed as he pinioned Lord Garävegión with a hard stare. “The prince is far too fragile in his mind right now to deal with that possibility.”

“I agree.” Lord Garävegión replied. “Unfortunately as my son has already stated, we do not have forces to extend the search that far.”

“Then we start with what we do know.” Elrond sighed heavily. “You have already searched as far south as the Sea of Rhûn and north to Withered Heath and found nothing. I suggest you recall your patrols and concentrate the search efforts in the northwest between the Ettenmoors and Emyn Uial.”

“You seriously think...” Lord Garävegión blurted.

“I do not think anything at the moment.” Elrond interrupted him firmly. “The searches have thus far revealed no sign of him, nothing, not so much as a scrap of his armor. This could mean that he managed to find some place safe on his own but has been severely wounded. In that case his natural powers to heal himself would also be limited enough that he has not yet been able to return on his own. I am merely suggesting that we cannot ignore other possibilities.”

“Legolas will question the recalling of the patrols.” Lord Garävegión said quietly, his anxiety growing as he studied Elronds’ guarded expression.

“Let me worry about Legolas.” Elrond stated as he rose from the chair. “We will discuss this again later.” He added, nodding in respect to Lord Garävegión.

“Damn it Thranduil! Where are you?!” He thought angrily to himself as he strode purposefully from the lords chambers.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Everything has been prepared just as you requested.” Ivósaar stated, his eyes filled with concern as he studied the prince. “There are others who wish to join us.”

“No.” Legolas emphatically, shaking his head as he turned away from him to refill his goblet. “I will take only you and Träëliôrn. I do not wish to draw unnecessary attention.”

“These men are hardened warriors and we do not know for certain just how many there are.” Ivósaar stated, shaking his head as Legolas offered to refill his goblet. “What chance does only three elves stand against that?”

“It is not my intention to confront them.” Legolas sighed, his expression hardening as he walked back to the hearth. “If my father has truly been sold as a slave...” His voice cut off as his body shuddered visibly at the thought. “I doubt seriously they plan on killing him. We will return once we have gathered enough information to...”

“Come.” Legolas called out, holding his hand up toward his friend to silence him.

“Lord Elrond.” Legolas greeted him with a forced smile as he turned toward him. “Please, join us. This is Ivósaar, one of the captains in the forest patrol.”

“I trust there have been no additional problems arise?” Elrond stated more than asked, arching a brow as he approached them.

“No.” Legolas stated, inclining his head toward one of the chairs in front of the hearth. “Unless you know something I don’t, I am still the commander of the patrols. We were discussing the value of a different strategy that might thwart the encroachment of the shelob (spiders) any farther north.”

“I’m glad to see that you are becoming more active in your duties.” Elrond stated, glancing at the young patrol captain before seating himself opposite the young prince. “What strategy have you devised if I may ask?”

“They are breeding like flies in Dol Guldur.” Legolas sighed, guarding his expression as he turned to look at the lord from Imladris. “Our forces are still weakened, but if we concentrate the patrols further south along the Mirkwood Mountains and leave the elite forces to guard along the Forest River, I think we can slow their advancement.”

“It might have merit. Have you presented this to Aldalómë or Lord Garävegión?” Elrond asked, sensing something uncomfortable within the young prince. Yet he smiled to himself as he saw much of his father in the young prince, a strength he would sorely need in the coming days.

“I thought it best to see to the details first.” Legolas replied, hiding behind his goblet as he took a long drink. “The next council meeting is still two days away.”

“My Lord.” Ivósaar stated, nodding respectfully toward Elrond before turning his attention to the prince. “If I may, I should meet with others before they retire for the evening.”

“Yes, of course.” Legolas nodded yet he did not look up at him.

“Lord Elrond.” Ivósaar addressed him respectfully as he turned away from them and quickly departed.

“Where do you propose to acquire the additional patrols?” Elrond pressed him as he relaxed back in the chair. Shifting his position as he rested his chin in his hand with his elbow on the arm of the chair, arching a brow inquisitively toward the prince.

“There are more volunteers as time passes.” Legolas replied, schooling his expression as he met the lords’ gaze evenly. “Much of the information coming from Esgaroth and Erebor has proven to be little more than speculation. I suspect Aldalómë will soon withdraw most of our forces the region.”

“And what of the promised support?” Elrond continued, the uncomfortable feeling in his gut growing yet admiring the intuitiveness of the young prince.

“We will honor the agreement.” Legolas stated as he rose to his feet, far more aware of Elronds’ unique ability to read others quite accurately. “It is what my father would have wanted.”

“Would?” Elrond asked, the frown now deepening across his brow. “You speak as though you have already given him up as lost.”

“Never!” Legolas exclaimed as he swung to face him, unable to hide the hurt and the rage that flashed in his pale blue eyes. “I will never give up hope that my father will return to me!”

“Legolas...”

“Stop coddling me!” Legolas stated angrily, stepping back slightly as Elrond rose to approach him. “He is my king but he is also my father! I cannot believe anything other than the fact that he still lives.”

“Thranduil has done well with you.” Elrond thought as he continued toward him, remembering how fiercely his friend had also defended and believed in Oropher in the face of so many doubts during the Battle of Last Alliance of Elves and Men. It had been Orophers’ own impetuousness that had resulted in his death, a loss that still haunted his friend to his very fäë (soul). 

“None of us give up hope Legolas.” He told him quietly. “Your father is one of my closest and longest friends. As long as he draws breath he will find his way back to us, I have no doubt.”

“If you do not mind.” Legolas sighed, struggling to school his expression. “The hour grows late and I am tired.”

“I understand.” Elrond nodded as he clasped the young princes’ shoulder reassuringly. “It has been very trying for you. Perhaps I will see you at breakfast?”

“Of course.” Legolas nodded, a weak smile curling his lips as he nodded.

Draining the last of the wine in his goblet, his expression hardened as he watched Elrond walk calmly toward the door.

“If he leaves I want to know about it.” Elrond told the guard quietly once he had closed the door behind him. “I don’t care what the hour.”

“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, my lord). Thalieth replied with a sharp nod.

Disappearing immediately into his bed chamber, Legolas striped himself of his royal robes and hastily donned one of his older patrol uniforms. Pausing only briefly as he mentally checked himself, he lifted the silver circlet from his head and laid it on his dressing table. Without the slightest hesitation, he strode purposefully through his private chambers to the secret passage into his fathers’ chambers. His pace quickened decisively as he made his way to the tapestry in his fathers’ private sitting room. Slipping behind it, he carefully secured it back in place before sprinting silently down the narrow escape passage that led deep beneath the fortress.

Under the cover of darkness and hidden in the thick pine grove several miles to the west, Ivósaar and Träëliôrn waited impatiently. They had no idea how long the lord of Imladris would delay the prince, yet there was no doubt between them that he would find a way to meet them.

“There.” Träëliôrn whispered quietly as he caught sight of a flash of silvery blonde hair in the moonlight just beyond the grove.

“We have until morning before I will be missed.” Legolas stated as he sprinted up to them. “We ride west along the Forest River.” He continued as he swung himself gracefully into the saddle. “We do not stop until we reach Langwell Pass.”

Without another word, the trio turned their mounts west and galloped into the night toward one of the most dangerous passes through the Misty Mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for reading this!!


	7. The Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torn between his feelings for Thranduil and what he knows he must do, Cerályië begins final plans for leaving Fornost. Thranduil descends further into his awareness of the part of him that craves what he now realizes only the dark elf can give him. Legolas, now fully convinced that his father has fallen into the hands of a ruthless slave trader, approaches the final part of his journey to Fornost set in his intentions of rescuing him.

“No.” Cerályië stated as he pushed himself up from behind his desk. “I much prefer that we not to be seen.” He said as he began pacing in front of the hearth in his study.

“If they’re lucky, small groups on foot might have a chance at moving through the forest, but a caravan would surely draw the attention of the shelob (spiders) as well as their patrols.” The commander stated, his tone was heavy with frustration as he tried to reason with the Lord of the Keep. “They are on edge as it is. We cannot risk being stopped and searched or worse taken prisoner. These elves are not like their kin, they don’t take kindly to trespassers.”

“We are not going through the forest.” Cerályië replied firmly without looking at him, folding his arms across his chest as he continued to pace. “We head south east to Eregion, there is area for most of the main caravan to camp once we reach the Hollin Pass. I only need a couple of guards to go with me. It is safer to leave him just north of Drimmill Dale. It’s populated by humans and close enough to Lórinand they can get him there.”

“The journey will take twice as long.” The commander stated, his frown deepening as he watched his frustration grow as he continued his pacing. “And you have no way of knowing how long it will take before anyone comes along to find him. There has to be another way.”

“I’ll think of something but I cannot go near Lórinand!” Cerályië exclaimed angrily as he stopped his pacing to turn and face him. “The evil in Dol Guldur may help disguise my powers from the Vanyar but I’m not willing to risk it. I will draw enough attention from the necromancer as it is and I don’t want to put us in any more danger than absolutely necessary.”

“Then I suggest we send the main caravan in the morning.” Elaéyadär stated cautiously as he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “They can take the same route through the pass and wait for us once they reach the Field of Celebrant.”

“I would prefer you take charge of the main caravan and continue on without waiting. It is more important that you and the larger force are with the coffers to see that it arrives safely.” Cerályië stated as he sank down into the chair opposite him in front the hearth. “I only need my personal guards as an escort. I will follow in two days, Daedalus and Odhrán can drive the wagons.”

“I don’t like it but I can live with it.” The commander sighed heavily as he pushed himself to his feet tiredly. “If you have nothing further, I will inform the captains of the change in plans and see you the morning before we depart.”

“That’s all Elaéyadär.” Cerályië relied, smiling slightly. “I don’t mean to be so...”

“I understand.” He shook his head as he held up his hand to forestall any further comment. “We are all anxious but it will be over soon.”

Nodding in silence Cerályië watched him leave before turning his attention to the flames in the hearth. Frowning slightly as he felt sadness at their impending departure, Fornost and this keep had been his home for almost four thousand years. Leaving it was proving to be harder than he thought it would be yet he knew he could no longer remain as he was endangering the lives of innocent people. He could feel the stirring of changes in the world as the evil in Dol Guldur grew, drawing its power from Mordor. Other necromancers had begun to eye the Ettenmoors and Carn Dûm once again and his powers would only draw their attention to the villages.

“Hîr vuin.” (My Lord) The servant spoke softly as he entered the Masters study. “You asked to be reminded of the evening meal.”

“Yes I did didn’t I.” He chuckled as he rose to his feet. “Thank you Nhaéslal.” He said as he walked toward him.

“Hîr vuin?” (My Lord) Nhaéslal asked quietly, touching the Masters’ elbow gently as he started to walk past him.

“What is it Nhaéslal?” He asked softly, frowning as he turned and looked into the servants imploring eyes, now dark green with concern and worry.

“What about Säévÿl and myself?” His voice trembled slightly as he stared up at the Master. “I wish to remain with you and I know he would feel the same.”

“But I would feel better knowing the two of you are safe with Elaéyadär.” Cerályië told him as he embraced him, hugging him close. “It will only be for a short while and Säévÿl will need you most. I know you will take care of him.”

“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, my lord) He replied quietly as the Master released him. “I will do my best.” He added, trying to smile.

“Then I know everything will be fine.” He said, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “I am retiring for the evening. You are free to do as you wish and I will see you in the morning.”

Nodding, Nhaéslal watched him in silence as he strode purposefully down the corridor toward the dungeons. Unlike the villagers whose memories of the Mage Wars had faded to little more than fables, the elves of Fornost remembered all too well the horrors of being held captive by Annûmëä. Yet none had felt the cruelty of his evil touch to the depths as did the Lord and Master of the Keep. All who remained had gladly chosen to serve and protect him in return for their freedom although he never asked for it. It would be good for him to get away from the shadow of that horrible memory, maybe then he could begin to heal.

“Daedalus.” Cerályië greeted him as he approached the door to the last dungeon room.

“Hîr vuin.” (My Lord) He replied as he opened for the door for him.

Entering the room Cerályië smiled, turning toward the settee as Thranduil lifted his head to look at him. His heart swelled as he gazed upon him, sitting on the stool with his arms still on the cushion where he had been resting his head while he waited for him. The untouched tray of food sat on the stand nearby. There was an innocence in the expression on his beautiful face that tore at him as he saw the anxiousness as well as a level of cheerfulness in his eyes, like a child who was not quite sure if he was in trouble yet hoped he was not.

Thranduil felt his gut twist painfully as the elf stood there, a soft smile on his face as he stared at him. His facial expressions were far more guarded and had become difficult to read these past few days. There had not been any punishments since the days before he had awakened in the Herdirs’ (Masters’) bed chamber, yet the sudden change in him that day was still clear in his mind. The dark eyes were so guarded and difficult to read from where he stood.

“I’m glad you waited for me.” Cerályië said quietly as he approached the settee, leaning down to capture his mouth in a brief but deep kiss before lowering himself onto the seat in front of him. “I shall miss you terribly.” He told him softly as he poured a cup of tea.

“Will you not at least tell me your name?” Thranduil asked, stiffening slightly for speaking without permission.

“Who I am is not important pirá neth (little one). He chuckled as he glanced fleetingly toward Edicûve. “In time you will forget about me and this place.” He said quietly, his tone becoming somewhat distant as he picked up a few pieces of the fruit and cheese.

“No.” Thranduil told him, meeting his gaze as he pulled back slightly when the elf held a piece of fruit to his lips. “I feel you inside me.” He said softly, putting what he felt into words for the first time.

“That too will fade.” Cerályië told him, feeling tears sting the backs of his eyes as he touched his lips with the fruit. “Our paths were not meant to cross...”

“Do not take them from me.” Thranduil interrupted him, growing bolder as he leaned a little closer to him, noting the glassy look of unshed tears in the elf’s eyes.

“I know it is you who comforts me at night by taking away the nightmares.” He continued when the elf only stared at him in silence. “They are but fragments of memories that will haunt my sleep until the end of my days. Memories are what make us who we are and you cannot take them from me.”

Lifting his gaze as tears slipped silently down his cheek, Cerályië met Edicûves’ soft gray eyes for long moments. Blinking them back, he glanced down as Thranduil pressed his face into his lap.

“Thranduil.” He said quietly as he lifted his face upward to gaze into the pleading sapphire eyes. “Do not speak of this again. Let us enjoy what little time we have left.” He stated as he leaned down, kissing his forehead.

Opening his mouth obediently as the elf touched his lips again with the fruit, he stared up at him, studying him. His expression was now guarded, but there was a softness in the dark eyes that studied him in return. The spray of starlight in their depths seemed brighter somehow as they watched him, as if he struggled within himself. Thranduil wanted to remember them, he wanted to remember his face, the warmth of his lips and the softness of his hair. He wanted to remember the scent, the taste of him and the way he felt in his arms as he surrendered to him.

At the same time he wanted to remember the sweet taste of his own surrender to him, before he told him of his love for him. The freedom of not being a king, of not having to be strong, to be able to completely give himself over to him. He had never known the exhilarating sensation he had experienced at those moments when he fully submitted to him, with no thought beyond the feeling of losing himself in the pleasure. Caught in the cycle of pain and humiliation that weakened him physically and emotionally, he craved the remuneration afterwards of gentle hands caring for him, tenderly kissing away his tears, holding him like a loving parent would a heartbroken child, had slowly shattered the barriers he had put up. Not since his childhood had his heart yearned for approval as he did from this elf, basking in the delight as he reveled in the rewards of the simplest attentions from him.

It was only in the darkness in the Herdirs’ (Masters’) bed as he hugged the elf’s sleeping body close to him that Thranduil became aware of the true source of his deep pain. It had been by far the worst of the punishments that had been inflicted upon him, yet the ache in his heart came not from the pain his body suffered. It was because the Herdir (Master) had simply walked away from him, there was no remuneration, no strong yet gentle arms to hold him and comfort him afterwards, no loving words of approval for his suffering and that hurt more than he was willing to admit even to himself.

Cautiously as he stared up into the velvety depths of the Herdirs’ (Masters’) eyes, Thranduil slid his hand along his thigh toward his groin. Smiling faintly as he gently caressed the length of his slightly hard sex through the silk leggings, watching as the dusky lips parted revealing the tip of his tongue as he wet them almost nervously.

“Leave us.” Cerályië said quietly as he reached forward, caressing Thranduils’ jawline and chin with gentle fingers. “Oh Eru (God), you are so beautiful and so precious to me!” He thought as he slid his hands behind his neck, lifting the mass of silvery blonde hair, enjoying the feel of it as he fanned it out across his back. His desire for him rising rapidly, Cerályië leaned back against the settee as Thranduils’ fingers quickly loosened the fastenings of his leggings.

Grasping the soft material as the Herdir (Master) lifted his hips, Thranduil pulled them well past his knees as he leaned forward between them. Eager to please him, he grasped his hips, nuzzling his lower belly, he breathed in the deep musky scent of him as he placed soft kisses over the warm flesh. Smiling to himself, he heard his sharp intake of breath and felt his fingers tangle themselves in his hair as he traced his tongue teasingly upward along the length of his sex.

Groaning softly, Cerályië sucked his lower lip into his mouth as he felt the warmth of his lips encircle the crown, the slow teasing swirls of the hot tongue sent jolts of pleasure through him. Stiffly, his fingers caressed the muscled flesh of his shoulders as he struggled against the urge to drive himself into his mouth. Laying his head on the back of the settee, he closed his eyes as Thranduil slowly drew the full length of him into his mouth.

Smiling to himself as he listened to the growing frustration in the elf’s groans, he brought him close once more, only to pull free of him to kiss the trembling flesh of his inner thighs. Wincing slightly as the elf clutched at his shoulders, digging into the muscles as he rocked his hips toward him.

“I swear you tease me beyond reason!” Cerályië exclaimed in exasperation, thrusting his hips forward hard enough to dislodge him as he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Closing his eyes, he trembled as he felt the warm lips sucking gently just below his ear. “You are making this so hard.” He thought to himself even as he tilted his head, savoring the feel of his tender kisses.

“Are you enjoying it?” Thranduil whispered, breathing softly in his ear before sucking his earlobe into his mouth.

“Yes.” Cerályië sighed more than said, shivering as he buried his face in his neck.

“Let me make love to you.” Thranduil said quietly, kissing his temple as he stroked his hair gently.

Nodding, Cerályië released him, his smile trembled as he watched him lower himself back onto the stool. Clasping his face in his hands, he leaned forward, kissing his lips tenderly. They only had these two more nights together and he would deny him nothing.

Shaking his head, Thranduil smiled at him as he moved his hands away when the elf reached down toward his boots. Thoroughly enjoying himself as he felt him watching him, he carefully removed the soft leather boots and pulled the leggings free of him. Leaning forward, he placed a soft kiss on the slightly parted lips as he unbuttoned the front of the tunic and pushed it down off his shoulders. His smile broadened as he rose to his feet, extending his hand toward him.

“I think you are enjoying this too much.” Cerályië stated, narrowing his eyes even as his tone carrying a hint of laughter as Thranduil pulled him up from the settee.

“Is it such a bad thing that I would enjoy pleasing my Herdir?” (Master) He replied quietly as he pulled him into his arms.

Whatever response Cerályië would have given was swallowed as Thranduil captured his mouth in a searching kiss as he lifted him in arms. Carrying him the few steps toward the hearth, he lowered him gently onto the furs, covering his body with his own. Slipping his arms beneath his shoulders, Thranduil cradled his head in his hands as he continued the now hungry kiss.

“I love you.” Thranduil thought to himself, knowing he would never be able to say the words out loud. Releasing his mouth, trailing his kisses lower, listening to the soft moans as he sought out all of his sensitive places. Using his knees, he pushed his thighs apart as he settled in closer to him.

Gently pulling the crown of his sex into his mouth, he reached toward the ledge in front of the hearth to find the small tin of herbal salve that was always there. Smiling to himself, he slipped slowly down the length him as he dipped his finger into the tin. Pulling back up to the crown, he teased him with his tongue as he sought the small wrinkled muscle. Swallowing the length of him as he pressed his finger passed the tight ring in search of the tiny hard nugget that would bring him pleasure.

“Ahh!” Cerályië cried out in pleasure, digging his fingers into the soft thickness of the furs beneath him as he arched against the almost overwhelming pleasure that coursed through him. It felt as if the world fell away from him, there was nothing beyond the feelings incited within him as Thranduil pleasured him beyond all thought.

“You may take my memories, but you will remember me.” Thranduil vowed silently, slipping his arms beneath his knees as he moved up over him. Capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss as he entered him, he swallowed the cries, taking him in long measured thrusts. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Although the grip of winter had faded from the lower regions, the winds blowing down from the north through the valley between Mount Gundabad and the Ered Mithrin Mountains to the north were bitter. The trio clutched their winter cloaks tighter as they reached the wider part of the trail in their final dissent to the Hithaeglir Plains on the western side of the Misty Mountains.

“We can make camp here.” Legolas stated as guided his mount toward a small gorge in the shadow of the mountain.

Three sets of eyes scanned the surrounding rock formations as they dismounted, leading their mounts further into the gorge toward the enormous pile of boulders in the canyon. The winds could still be heard whistling above them as they settled in behind a small stone outcropping near the base of the mountain.

“North Downs is still at least five hundred miles west of here.” Träëliôrn commented quietly, his gaze flickered between his two companions as he dug into his saddle pack for something to eat.

“Fornost should be at the south end of there.” Legolas sighed as he pulled out his water flask.

Exchanging worried glances, Träëliôrn and Ivósaar watched the prince with great concern as they ate in silence. What little information they were able to glean from different conversations at the Silver Thorn Inn at Langwell Pass was questionable. Most were too far into their cups to take everything they said as more than the rumors they had already heard coming out of Esgaroth and Erebor. None of the patrons had spoken a name, referring to him only as the dark elf. It was their revelation that this dark elf had a penchant for light haired Sindar elves that concerned them the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thanks so much for reading this!! It's getting more and more difficult to work toward ending this story but alas I must stick to the established outline. This was never intended to be an actual story but it just keeps growing in my mind!!
> 
> Also, my apologies for any errors as I do not use beta readers.
> 
> Comments are welcome and appreciated!


	8. Three Blind Mice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos reigns behind the scenes within Thranduils’ halls when it is discovered that the Regent Prince Legolas is nowhere to be found. Following his heart and guided only by rumors, Legolas and two childhood friends set out to the west toward Fornost in a desperate attempt to find his father before it is too late. Foiled are the best-laid plans of mice, men, and elves...

The slightly warmer weather of early spring did little to lift the spirits among the elves of the Woodland Realm. The dining hall felt even more subdued as everyone appeared to hurry about their morning meal, urgent to get after their duties or other required activities for the day. Many cast more than a few longing glances toward the dais and the kings’ empty chair, noting as well that the Regent Prince Legolas had not yet appeared and the hour grew late. The concern on the faces of the council members as well as Lord Elrond did not bode well for many of them.

Entering the dining hall, Galion wrung his hands in desperation as he made his way along the wall toward the dais. He could feel Lord Elrond’s eyes on him as he hurried up the steps.

“I have looked everywhere, even in both of their chambers my lord.” Galion said quietly as he leaned down close to his ear. “There is no sign of him anywhere.”

“What do you mean no sign?!” Elrond hissed through clenched teeth as he turned to face him. “He has to be somewhere!”

“My lord please.” Galion implored him, feeling his stomach twist in knots. “May we talk of this in private?”

“Of course.” Elrond stated, feeling the heat of his anger and frustration staining his cheeks as he rose from his seat on the dais. “Find Aldalómë, tell him to meet us in his fathers’ study. That includes you too Galion.” He added in a much quieter tone.

“Ben iest gîn, hîr vuin.” (As you wish, my lord). Galion replied, shaking even more as he turned away from him.

“I think we need to meet in your private study. I have sent Galion to find Aldalómë.” Elrond said quietly, leaning down close to Lord Garävegións’ ear.

“What is it?!” Garävegión asked, quickly rising from his seat to follow him.

“Galion has searched the halls as well as both royal chambers.” Elrond stated as they slipped out of the dining hall. “It would seem that Legolas has left these halls against my wishes.”

“Oh Eru! (God) What is that child up to?!” Garävegión groaned loudly as they hurriedly made their way through the labyrinth of corridors toward the lower halls reserved mostly for those of the council and other nobles.

Watching them leave, Séonäis breathed out a sigh that felt as if it came from his very fäë (soul). Politely excusing himself, he made his way unhurriedly from the dining hall. The weight of his position as cleric had never felt as heavy as it did at that moment. He had held the secrets of the elves of the Woodland Realm for nearly five thousand years and none had shook him as the news he must now impart to Garävegión.

“I had hoped reminding him of his duties, getting him back into taking charge would give him less time to dwell on the situation.” Elrond stated angrily as they approached the door to his private study. “Unfortunately I have a feeling they were not discussing the problem of the shelob (spiders).” He added, closing the door behind them.

“They?” Garävegión asked, casting him an inquisitive glance over his shoulder as he walked toward his wine cupboard.

“Yes.” Elrond sighed heavily, frowning deeply as he turned back toward the door to see Aldalómë striding purposefully in to the study, followed closely by a still nervous Galion. “He introduced him as one of the captains in the forest patrol, his name escapes me at the moment.”

“That could be any one of six.” Aldalómë stated, interjecting himself into the conversation as he nodded respectfully to his father and Elrond. “As their commander for the past century very strong bonds have formed between them. If I were to guess however, I would say he has a closer bond with Ivósaar and Träëliôrn, it would have been one of those two.”

“Yes, Ivósaar, that was the name.” Elrond stated, eyeing Galion suspiciously.

“Neither were present for muster this morning.” Aldalómë stated, noting the accusatory glance Elrond had shot toward Galion. “The three of them have been thick as thieves since childhood.” He said as he walked toward the hearth to add a couple more logs.

“Who else would any one of them trusted?” Garävegión asked as he joined Elrond, handing him a glass of wine as they both walked toward the chairs in front of the hearth.

“The trees shed more than leaves my friends.” Séonäis said quietly as he walked through the open door, closing it behind him.

“What do you know?” Elrond asked, sighing deeply as he knew full well the cleric would rather die than break the trust of one of his devotees.

“Legolas has many friends among the Silvan elves as does his father.” Séonäis continued in his normal soft spoken way as he walked to the settee between the two lords. “The more you tried to hide information from him, the more he turned to his friends to find it.”

Sighing impatiently both lords held their tongues as the cleric made himself comfortable on the settee. It was no use pressuring him, he would reveal what he knew in his own way and in his own time.

“Now freed of Smaug, the treasure hoard of Erebor has drawn many of the unsavory ilk close to our borders.” The cleric continued as he glanced toward Aldalómë. “As you, yourself acknowledged Lord Elrond, news of our situation has spread far beyond the Misty Mountains, even as far north as Mount Gundabad. Many a necromancers’ eye now turn toward that mountain as the power of Dol Guldur grows.”

“Even in his current state of mind the Prince would not be foolish enough to travel there without an army to protect him!” Aldalómë stated angrily as he glared at the cleric.

“The love of a parent to a child goes both ways Aldalómë.” Séonäis said calmly, understanding the anger in the Chief March Wardens tone and taking no offense. “You think you could have shielded him from the rumors?” He added, glancing between the two lords once more. “Legolas knows through the bond they share and in his heart that his father lives.”

“When I find those two...”

“You will do nothing.” Garävegión stated, shooting his son an angry glare. “In his present state of mind I fear they may have felt there was no other course of action than to go with him.”

“Unfortunately our prince has much of both his father and grandfather in him.” Séonäis stated, frowning slightly. “The good and the bad.”

“If he left in search of Crevan, they will not find him there.” Aldalómë stated as be began pacing before the hearth, his mind racing as he struggled to recall more of what the captain had told him of the conversation at the Half Barrel Inn in Esgaroth. “I am more concerned about them finding Egan.”

“He travels with a group of Northmen from the lower regions of Forodwaith, just north of Carn Dûm.” He continued, feeling all eyes turning silently toward him. “Their leader is a Northmen that goes by the name of Lochinvar. He’s ruthless and cares nothing for elves beyond the gold he collects selling them to the necromancers in the Ettenmoors. They are not above scavenging battlefields to find the wounded who are unable to defend themselves against them.”

“If Legolas is aware of this, with no sign of his father, he could believe that is where he has been taken.” Elrond stated, his gaze turning inward as he remembered his earlier conversation with the prince. It would make sense that if these men would scavenge battlefields for slaves to sell, they would take their armor and weaponry as trophies, leaving no sign of the unfortunate soul taken captive.

“You believe Thranduil still lives?” Elrond asked, turning his attention back to the cleric.

“It does not matter what I believe.” Séonäis replied, arching a brow at him. “Only that Legolas believes it.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Once we make it around to the south side of the Ettenmoors we should rest.” Träëliôrn stated as he turned toward Legolas, guiding his mount closer to him. “It will be the last resting place out of these winds. The rest of the journey will be across open plains and we cannot push the mounts faster than necessary, we do not know what we will encounter out there. We might need to flee and they will need all their strength to get us to some form of safety out here.”

“Legolas!” Ivósaar exclaimed angrily when the prince only shook his head. “Do not be a fool! Do you think your father would want you to get yourself killed?”

“I cannot bear the thought of him there.” Legolas said quietly as he continued to gaze into the west. “Nightmares torture my sleep at what he must have already endured at their hands. It is difficult to delay.”

“We do not know for sure if he is there.” Träëliôrn said quietly, glancing quickly at Ivósaar. “The king is very resourceful, he may have already found a way to free himself from them.”

“Resourceful yes and possibly wounded.” Legolas agreed as he turned to look at his friend. “He may also be alone, one against who knows how many.” A deep frown creasing his otherwise smooth brow.

“And we are only three.” Träëliôrn reminded him firmly. “We find out what we can and return to inform Aldalómë. That is what we agreed.”  
“If I discover that my father is truly there, I will not go back without him.” Legolas stated, flashing them both an angry glare as he nudged his mount into a swift canter ahead of them.

“I was afraid if this.” Träëliôrn sighed heavily as they kneed their mounts closer yet remained far enough behind the prince to give him some space. Both silently understanding that they could only guess at what their friend could be feeling at this moment. It would be almost nightfall by the time they reached the lee of the south side of the Ettenmoors. They were in a strange land and knew nothing of what they would find when they reached their destination.

Only dimly aware of their presence behind him, Legolas reluctantly searched his memory for any of the old tales of the slave traders of the north that were known to travel the Anduin southward toward Harad. The elves that were taken captive by them were never heard of again so there was no way of knowing the truth of what happened to them at the hands of the traders or even their masters once they had been sold. It was rumored they were mostly used as house slaves while others for physical labor among their caravans. He had heard tales of how some of them were beaten and tortured into submission. The lands of Harad were has hostile as the Haradrim tribes themselves, a vast hot desert with scattered thick jungles.

Enslaving others was something he could not understand which made the strange conversation he had overheard years ago between his father and Lord Garävegión seem even worse as it was elves enslaving other elves. Nobles, mostly the wealthier lower lords with a need for intimacy with others like themselves who would buy an ellyn bair-mûl (Male House Slave) to provide them with sexual favors their wives could not give them.

For the first time since they began this journey he was glad for the cold winds that colored his cheeks as he thought of this dark elf lord they had heard of at the inn and wondered if he was one of them. There were nights, in the safety of his own chambers when he would lay in his bed and stroke himself as he fantasized about having his father bound spread eagle on his enormous four poster bed, helpless to resist his attentions. But that was only playing, something he wanted to do for the pleasure of his father as much as for himself. Tears stung the backs of his eyes as he thought of his father, knowing his pride would have forced them to beat him into submission, if he submitted at all.

“Legolas...”

“Yes, yes.” He replied more sharply than he had intended, turning his mount toward Ivósaar.

Moving toward the smaller foothills of the Ettenmoors, the trio was a bit surprised to find a small cave and large area of tall grass for their mounts. The mountains buffered the brunt of the winds yet the air was still chilly as they cautiously approached. The mouth of the cave was low enough that any sort of creature could have decided it make a good den, not to mention they had no idea how far back into the foothills it may have gone.

Slipping from their mounts, they drew their swords and made their way silently toward the mouth of the cave. Moving slowly, allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness within, they went in single file with Träëliôrn in the lead and Ivósaar at the end. Frowning as they moved along the wall, the smell of burning wood drifted to them as they crept into the darkness, listening for any sound and watching for movement. The only sound was the steady drip of water from somewhere in front of them, pausing as they realized the echo was loud enough to reveal a much larger part of the cave. Less than a hundred miles south of Mount Gundabad it would not have been unlikely to find a nest of goblins or worse orcs, depending on how far back the cave went into the mountains. Either way, they needed to make sure before they made camp lest they be attacked unprepared in their sleep.

“Humans.” Träëliôrn whispered softly as he stepped back closer to Legolas.

“Humans?” Legolas mouthed the word silently as he frowned at him.

Lifting his chin, Träëliôrn made an exaggerated gesture as he sniffed the air within the cave.

“What now?” Ivósaar whispered as he stepped closer to them.

“Halt!” Ivósaar exclaimed, raising his sword as he jumped in front of Legolas.

“We mean you no harm!” Träëliôrn declared, lifting his own blade as he stepped toward Ivósaar to further shield the prince as a man appeared holding a large broad sword high above his head.

“What do you want?!” The man asked, his deep voice filling the cave.

Judging by the way he held the blade he was not a swordsman, perhaps not even a fighter. Not quite as tall as Legolas who was taller than his companions, the man was filthy and looked very much tired and haggard. His hair was long, scraggly and dark, much like his beard.

“Nothing from you.” Legolas stated as he studied the man. “We only sought a place to rest close by and feared what might be lurking within this cave.”

“How many are you?” The man asked, his tone still carried a warning note as he continued to hold the blade high over his head.

“There is only what you see. Our mounts are just beyond the mouth of the cave. I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm and these are my friends.” He told him, deciding it was best not to reveal too much of himself as he continued to watch him closely even as he lowered his own blade. “We are journey west to Fornost. May we sit and talk.” He continued, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.

“I am Thaddeus, son of Gareth.” The man stated, only slightly lowering the sword. “We are from North Downs and headed to Erebor. Why do you travel to such a forlorn place?”

“Please.” Legolas said quietly, smiling slightly. “We have come a long way. We truly mean you no harm, may we sit and talk?” He wanted more information about this dark elf and these people may be his last chance to learn truths rather than rumors.

“I see no reason not to.” Thaddeus stated, although he was watchful as he lowered the sword. “We have no ill will toward elves.” He added as he moved cautiously back into the narrow passage that lead into a cavernous room and the source of the dank odor as well as the dripping water.

Huddled in the far end of the cave they could see a large group of people. A small fire cast strange shadows making it difficult to see just how many were hidden in the shadows that lurked in every corner of the oddly shaped cave. A lake could be seen from the shaft of light that filtered through what appeared to be an old caved in area from outside the mountain, melted ice dripped downward, splashing into the otherwise serene surface of the lake below.

“Come with me.” Thaddeus told them, finally lowering his sword and turning away as he lead them along a narrow but dry path that ran close to the rocky wall toward the group. The trio sheathed their swords as they followed him, yet their hands lingered near the hilts.

“Travelling such a distance with women and children yet no wagons.” Legolas quietly voiced his concerns as they grew closer. “Who or what attacked you?” He asked as he scanned their frightened faces.

“You are very observant.” Thaddeus commented as they reached the fire. “We are but little more than half of what set out from the Downs. Orcs, but I don’t know how many there were, much is still a blur. We are farmers, not fighters.”

“Where?” Legolas asked, watching as one woman broke from the huddled group and approached them.

“We had not gotten far.” Thaddeus said as he wrapped his arm around the shoulders of the woman who approached them. Slightly shorter than the man, with the same dark hair yet there was something different about her face.

“I believe they came down from Carn Dûm.” He told them, hugging her close. “I don't know what they came for since the elves of the Downs left years ago and went farther west to the shores of Lake Evendim, near Nenuial.”

“I have heard talk of one called the dark elf?” Legolas pressed him as he glanced between the two of them. “What of him?”

“Annûmëä was struck down over four thousand years ago, shortly after the Mage Wars.” The woman stated as she leaned closer to the man. “Why does anyone look for him now?”

“My cousins’ memories are better than mine.” Thaddeus sighed, glancing down at her before turning his attention back to the elves. 

“My name is Aërasumé, I am half-elven.” She stated, her gaze flickering over the trio of elves in front of her. “My mother was taken captive by the dark forces within that mountain. She was never the same when she was freed and sailed west when she could no longer bear the loneliess after my fathers’ death.”

“I am very sorry for your loss.” Legolas said quietly, bowing his head toward her for a moment. “But I must know.” He continued as he looked at her once more. “There is talk in Erebor of a dark elf who deals with the slave traders of the north.”

“I am afraid you have come a long way for nothing.” Aërasumé told him. “The one called the dark elf was not evil. His darkness came from his memories of centuries as a captive within the mountain. I can only hope he found peace in the Undying Lands.”

“You knew him?” Legolas asked with a little more urgency than he would have preferred, but her knowledge of him was evidence that he at least had existed at some point in time.

“I should know him.” She stated, her stance changing slightly as if she felt threatened. “He was my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as exciting of a chapter yet it fills in a bit of the backstory on the dark elf and hints again to the relationship between Thranduil and Legolas. It also fills out more of ‘my version’ of Legolas which will play out in further chapters. It also introduces additional 'author created' characters as they play a much arger role in the main story that is still a work in progress.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	9. Kindred Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond learns the secret of how the young prince managed to escape from the palace. Legolas and his friends come upon a group of travelers, among them a half-elf claiming to be the sister of the dark elf who claims he has not been part of this world for centuries. Thranduil is reminded of long-buried memories of his father, only to learn that his darkest nightmares are shared by the dark elf.

“You seem uncommonly flustered Lord Elrond.” One of the guards said quietly as he came upon him in the solarium.

“You could say that.” Elrond replied, a frown touching his brow as he tried in vain to recall the guards' name. 

“I am Glaurhalbër, one of the Kings’ March Wardens.” He introduced himself, answering the unspoken question plainly displayed on the lords’ face. “How can I help you?”

“I have searched everywhere for Galion within this maze of a fortress, no one has seen him since yesterday.” Elrond explained, his expression eased only somewhat.

“I believe Rûingäraf has this watch on the Kings’ chambers.” Glaurhalbër told him. “He will let you in.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Elrond groaned with exasperation, his shoulders slumping as he shook his head. “Thank you!” He said as he grasped the guards’ hands tightly.

“I hope you will not be too hard him.” Glaurhalbër said quietly, his eyes searching the lords’ face for a moment. “Second only to the prince, this has been most difficult for him.”

“You needn’t worry about that.” Elrond sighed, smiling as he gave his hands a squeeze. “If anything I owe him an apology.” He stated and turned quickly away from him.

Berating himself angrily, Elrond nearly ran through the labyrinth of corridors that lead to the lower levels of the underground fortress. Recognizing the some of the tapestries and paintings, he knew he had reached the halls reserved for visiting nobles and dignitaries. Pausing briefly to get his bearings, he turned down the wider corridor leading to Thranduils’ audience chamber. He was familiar with this part of the palace and easily found his way down the stairs into the antechamber just outside of the royal chambers.

“Rûingäraf.” Elrond greeted him anxiously. “I’m looking for Galion, I was told he might have sought the solitude of the kings’ chambers.”

“He did.” The sentinel replied as he stepped closer to the door. “He has been in there since yesterday.” He added as he opened the door for him.

“Thank you.” Elrond stated as he hurried past him into the pubic sitting room, his gaze sweeping the spacious area for any sign of him.

“I am right here.” Galion said quietly as Elrond strode quickly past him, headed toward the bed chamber.

“Galion!” Elrond exclaimed as he swung around to see him curled in the tall wing backed chair Thranduil favored so much.

“Would you like some tea?” He asked as he unfolded his legs and started to get up.

“I am so sorry Galion.” Elrond exclaimed as he moved quickly toward him, dropping to his knees in front of the chair. “I have been so worried about Legolas...”

“Elrond stop.” He stated, shaking his head. “I do not need coddled. Now let me up, I have something to show you.”

“I know how Legolas got out of here without being seen.” Galion said quietly as he walked toward the private sitting room just outside of the bed chamber. “There are three secret passages into Thranduils’ rooms, one from the rooms reserved for the Queen, one from the old nursery and one from Legolas’s chambers. The first two have been magically sealed, they cannot be opened except by the king himself. Behind this tapestry there is a tunnel leading to an aquafer fed by the waters of the Enchanted River, only a Woodland elf would recognize it for what it is. It is an escape route for the royal family in the event the palace is breeched. On the other side of it there is a tunnel running several miles North West and opens up beneath a natural grotto in a pine grove.”

“The lower levels are riddled with such passages.” Galion continued as Elrond stared at him in amazement. “They all converge within the cavern of the aquafer with a single passage leading to the grotto. We may have burrowed ourselves underground like the dwarves, but Thranduil left no stone unturned in the planning of this fortress. No one outside of the Woodland Realm knows of this with the exception of you.”

“Well I have to say I am impressed.” Elrond stated as he sank down into a nearby chair. “I have often wondered. I understand tunneling into a mountain but I questioned the logic of elves living underground.”

“It’s not fool proof.” Galion sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “The goal is to reach the Grey Mountains which is still over a hundred miles north through the forest once the grotto is reached. Unfortunately it does nothing to help us with the situation at hand.”

“Galion...”

“Elrond don’t.” He stated as he turned away from him, returning to the public sitting room. “I have served, taken care of and yes I have loved Thranduil for over four thousand years. I have learned as much from him as he has from me.” He said quietly as he sank back down into the chair and picked up his teacup. “I will not give up hope until I see his body.”

“You are far stronger than I gave you credit.” Elrond said quietly, his heart breaking for the pain he knew the old elf would never reveal. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Aërasumé is very protective of the memory of her brother.” Thaddeus said quietly, directing them a little further away from the larger group at the far end of the cave. “She is not angry with you, sometimes she doesn’t think about how her words can hurt.”

“I still do not understand.” Legolas said, watching the woman walk back toward the other side of the cave.

“There are many stories about the dark elf.” Thaddeus commented, studying the young elf’s face. “But it is as she says, the evil has returned. You know this to be true, the necromancer in Dol Guldur grows stronger and there are others who now look toward Carn Dûm. The elves of the Realm of Arnor have mostly fled either south to the Grey Havens or the Blue Mountains. People like us are making our way across the Misty Mountains.”

“There are already so many that flock into Erebor.” Legolas commented as he continued to watch the milling group of people on the other side of the cave. “What will you do there?”

“We are simple farmers with no trades to offer.” Thaddeus sighed heavily, shrugging in resignation. “We have heard of lands on the other side of your Woodland Realm, between two rivers. Perhaps we can settle there and raise our families in peace now that the dragon is no longer in the mountain.”

“You are still a long way from there.” Träëliôrn said quietly, glancing between the man and the others. “You are few, with women and children, no wagons or supplies to continue such a journey across the mountains.”

“We managed to scavenge some of the supplies from the two wagons we brought with us.” The man replied, eyeing the other elf. “We are the second group to leave the Downs, there are others from Fornost coming. We will join with them when they arrive. You can continue your journey, but Aërasumé is right, you will not find what you seek and you are also far from your home.” He stated, his gaze flickered between the three elves.

“Thank you.” Legolas said, smiling although it did not reach his eyes. “We will see to our mounts and discuss this amongst ourselves. We will speak of this again in the morning.”

“I do not like any of this.” Träëliôrn said quietly once they were some distance away from the man. “What that half-elf said about the Tower of Amon Sûl, it’s true, Angmar destroyed the city in search of the planatir (notes) when the city was called Annúminas and ruled by the Dúnedain.”

“Maybe the dark elf they speak of is the one in Dol Guldur.” Ivósaar said as they stepped back out into the chilly winds. “If he wants to go back to Carn Dûm then I say good riddance.”

“I would agree with you if it were not for the darkness surrounding Mordor.” Legolas sighed as they scanned the grassy area for their mounts.

“We don’t even know what that evil is in Dol Guldur and I do not believe anything that fool Radagast claims.” Träëliôrn growled as they walked toward their mounts a short distance away. “Nevertheless, it will take us at least a week to reach Fornost and we may find nothing just as the half-elf said.”

“We will sleep on this and decide in the morning.” Legolas stated as he unbuckled the small pouch from the saddle.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Gareth, I wish you would reconsider.” Cerályië sighed heavily, waving his hand over the small cup when the mans’ wife offered to refill it with tea. “The power building in Mordor is rumored to be that of Sauron. The necromancer in Dol Guldur is still yet unknown. However, there are other eyes that look to Carn Dûm and they will come. I think you and the others would be safer away from here.”

“Cerá.” Gareth said quietly as he reached across the table to pat the elf’s hand, his smile only seemed to accent the many wrinkles in his elderly face. “I am old.” He sighed, his once strong broad shoulders slumped slightly. “As are most of those who have chosen to remain. We are not up to such a journey. The chest you have left us is far more than we will ever need and we cannot thank you enough. You have delayed too long as it is.”

“We will depart at first light in the morning.” Cerályië said as he pushed himself up from the small table in their tiny kitchen. “Unfortunately, if people are to believe the rumors Aërasumé has created, the Keep must be magically destroyed, no trace of me can be left behind. There is a tunnel leading to the dungeons that will be left open where you can seek refuge if the village is threatened.”

“You and your sister have done enough for us.” Gareth told him as he rose to his feet, walking with the Lord of the Keep as he stepped out onto the small covered area just beyond the kitchen. “We are grateful for everything and only wish for you a safe journey.”

“Well.” Cerályië said quietly as he leaned down to embrace the elderly man. “I pray that all is for naught.” He told him as his hugged him tightly before turning away from him.

Glancing around as he strolled down the path toward the Keep, Cerályië sighed heavily, feeling the enormous weight of what tomorrow would bring. The last of the caravans had left two days ago, the larger one would head southeast to Eregion and take the Hollin Pass while the other would head northeast the same way as the others, travelling just below the Ettenmoors toward Erebor then south along the Celduin River. The final wagons had been packed and stood ready, he would be in the last small group that departed Fornost in the morning.

Entering the Keep, his bone heeled boots made a loud clicking sound as he strode purposefully across the now empty foyer. Emptied of all his personal belongings, there was a haunted feel about the Keep as he and the remaining guards had moved to the dungeons themselves for the final days within the Keep. Striding through the empty sitting room, he lifted the small lever in the empty bookcase, he descended into the narrow passage that led to the spacious dungeon area deep below the Keep.

“He will not change his mind.” Cerályië sighed heavily as he entered the dungeon room he now shared with the remaining guards. “I will never understand Eru’s (God’s) reasoning for their frailty.” He added, frowning deeply as he sank down into a nearby chair.

“They still refuse to leave?” Taráthiël asked, exchanging glances with the other guards seated around the table.

“Aye.” Cerályië replied, his gaze taking on a distant look as he turned toward the hearth.

“Tomorrow I will need to summon powers I have dared not touch in ages.” He said after long moments as he watched the flames in the hearth. “You will need to make haste in our departure as I will have nothing left to spare to protect us until I have rested.” He continued, turning his attention back to them.

“We should reach Amon Sol by nightfall.” Edicûve stated, his expression filled with concern as he studied his friend and Lord of Keep.

“Good.” Cerályië said quietly, nodding as he pushed himself up from the chair. “We will have our midday meal now.” He smiled weakly, meeting Edicûves’ gaze briefly before turning away from them.

There had been no need to post a guard at Thranduils’ door as they were all mere steps away in the dungeon room across from him. Schooling his expression as he reached for the handle, he smiled as he entered the room.

“Tula sinome.” (Come here) He said softly, holding out his arms as Thranduil rose from the furs in front of the hearth. Chuckling softly as he noted the odd expression on his face as his gaze flickered over his unusual attire. Pulling him into his arms, he kissed him softly before guiding him toward the settee.

“Time for me to relax now and enjoy pirá celebmîr nîn.” (My little silver treasure) Cerályië said quietly, gently smoothing his hair as Thranduil laid his head in his lap. “My heart still wants to keep you forever.” He told him silently, yet he knew it was something that could never be.

Usually dressed in fine robes, Thranduil found it odd to see the dark elf dressed in a plain dark blue silk tunic and leggings with high boots as if he had been out riding. Yet there was no scent of a horse or other animal about him, only the customary Sandalwood and Sólanäceae mingled with the fresh scent of pine as if he had been in a forest.

Lifting his head as Edicûve arrived within moments with their midday meal, Thranduil could feel the tension between them as he set the tray on the table by the settee. The dark elf had told him their time together was short and wondered if that time had come. It would explain the elf’s odd mood over the past few days and his strange attire.

“I would like to be alone now.” Cerályië said as he poured the tea, feeling Thranduils’ gaze nearly burning into him as he lowered himself onto the floor yet leaned heavily into his lap.

“You will be happy to know that we will be leaving in the morning.” He told him as he picked up a piece of the cheese and held it down to his lips. “You will soon be reunited with your son.” He added, his smile trembling slightly as he opened his mouth to accept it.

Thranduil felt his body run hot then cold, a myriad of emotions washed over him as he turned his cheek into the gentle touch of the elf’s fingers. It was what he had wanted since the day he had first awakened within the walls of the room that had become his prison for what now seem like an eternity. Yet he knew too that his time with the dark elf had changed him in ways he could not explain even to himself.

“Why will you not at least tell me your name?” He asked, his voice was unsteady as he stared up at him.

“You must learn to hold me only as a memory as I will you.” Cerályië said softly as he caressed his cheek, knowing he was lying to him. “Our worlds can never cross again.” He added quietly, as he watched the strange play of emotions chase themselves within the depths of those beautiful eyes.

“There must be...”

“No Thranduil.” He told him firmly, his shoulders slumping slightly as he shook his head. “You cannot serve two masters and I am far too selfish, I cannot share you. It is better that you return to your world just as I remain in mine.” He told him as he traced his fingertip across his lower lip.

“Stop.” He insisted, frowning deeply as he covered Thranduils’ mouth with his hand, his heart aching as he stared down at the face that looked more like that of a child being told he could not have something he desperately wanted. “Do not make this any more difficult than it already is.” He told him as he cupped his chin, lifting his face upward slightly.

“You asked me once who it was that hurt me.” Cerályië told him, staring into the depths if those sapphire eyes as his grip on Thranduils’ chin tightened. “For a millennia I suffered the depraved tortures of Annûmëä within the bowels of the mountain Carn Dûm, only my desire for revenge upon the one who sold me to him gave me the strength to survive. When I learned of his death I thought I would find peace, instead I was filled with hate for having been cheated of my revenge. Blinded by my hate and the need for revenge, I turned my eyes toward his son as my reward.”

“You think I do not know what he did to you? Did you think you were the only one?” He continued, watching Thranduils’ eyes widen as the color drained from his face. “I am not the one who broke you Thranduil, he did. When I learned of what he had done to you, my revenge died but my hatred for him remained. We were both only children seeking nothing more than approval of a father, but he perverted that love to his own ends.”

Ignoring the pain caused by the dark elf’s grip on his chin, Thranduil stretched his hand upward toward his face. Gently wiping away the tears that streamed unheeded down the elf’s cheeks, yet he was unaware of the ones that soaked his own. Unbidden, the long buried memories of the abuse he suffered at the hands of his father came flooding back like a tidal wave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Palantir – Seeing Stones, like the one found by Pippin where the Eye of Sauron was able to look at him.
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long to update this story! I'm kind of struggling with how to bring it to an end. As I said in the beginning, this story is a conglomeration of a bunch of deleted scenes from the story where Cerályië makes his first appearance in my writings. It has taken on a life of its own and will quite possibly result in the writing of Part Two.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. New Horizons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arrival of the Kings’ Chief March Warden Aldalómë and a troop of elite elven soldiers does not sway the young prince in the search for his father. As Cerályië completes the final steps before the move to the Lake of Rhûn, Legolas grows ever closer.

Propped up on one elbow, Cerályië gazed down at the sleeping face of the beautiful slave that had become his lover. A slight smile curled his lips as he allowed himself to reminisce over the past five months with him, remembering both, the pleasures and the regrets. His gaze roamed freely over the exquisite form that lay beside him, so gloriously displayed in his nakedness. It would seem that the same fates that had been so cruel in the past had now gifted him with the light within him, a light that would burn with hope.

“If this were another place, in another time. I could easily love you with all my heart.” The words had been etched in his heart since the day Thranduil had spoken them, he had felt the change within himself. Yet it was before then, on that first morning when he looked upon his tortured face and had taken the nightmares from him, he knew the truth, he knew he would love him until the end of his days.

“Our time has come to an end my love.” Cerályië whispered, ignoring the sting of tears at the back of his eyes. “If it be the will of the fates, I shall see you again in Aman.” (Notes) He said as he leaned down, breathing in the sweet scent of his breath and of him before touching his lips to his tenderly.

Pulling back slightly, he smiled as he gazed down into the clear sapphire pools that sparkled with starlight. Caressing his cheek, he gently pushed the stray strands of his hair back from his face, tucking them behind his ear

“Sleep now my love.” He said softly as he traced his forefinger across his forehead and watched as those beautiful eyes closed for the last time. “You are the part of me that is the heart of me, the whole of me that is the soul of me, now and forever, until the end of time.” He whispered as he kissed the unresponsive lips for the last time.

Pushing himself up from the furs, he fought back the tears as he gazed down at his sleeping form for long moments. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Cerályië felt numb as he began the task of dressing himself for the long day ahead. Casting one more long glance toward Thranduil, he shook himself firmly and strode purposefully out of the dungeon room.

Entering the dungeon room across the hall, he said nothing as he walked toward the hearth to collect the teapot. He watched them on the fringes of his vision as Edicûve and Dorinäélin slipped quietly out of the room to prepare Thranduil for the journey. Clearing his mind, he struggled against the fear that threatened to overwhelm him as he prepared himself for what lay ahead. Allowing himself one last thought of Thranduil, he wrapped his heart in the comfort of the light within him.

The two guards shared worried glances yet said nothing as they carefully dressed Thranduil and carried him from the depths of the dungeons. Hurrying across the courtyard toward the others, they lifted him into the main wagon, arranging him as comfortably as possible in the small cot. 

“Go now.” Edicûve stated, casting a worried glance toward Daedalus. “We will meet you at the fork.” He said, stepping back as the wagons lurched forward disappearing in the darkness.

Turning toward Dorinäélin, they stood anxiously near the small grove of trees some distance away from the Keep as they waited for the Lord and Master of the Keep. There was nothing more they could do to help him, this he must do on his own.

Emerging from the Keep, Cerályië cast one fleeting glance toward the grove where he knew they waited. Turning away from them he walked across the courtyard toward the edge of the forest, he shut them out of his mind, allowing the present world to fall away as he opened his mind and reached deep within himself for the anger and hate that had given him the strength to strike down his tormentor in a world that was a lifetime ago.

Although he was stronger and far more in control than he was then, his body trembled visibly as he turned back toward the Keep now consciously pulling on the powers of the elements around him. Closing his eyes, his mind reached out, merging with the earth, the stone, and the life forces within them. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, the pain slowly consuming him as he held it, manipulated it, letting it build within him. Dropping to his knees as he released it, the scream that ripped through his throat was drowned out by the loud cracking and grinding as the ground shook opened beneath the Keep, leaving it in a pile of rubble.

Ignoring the pain that flowed through his veins like fire, Cerályië reached out once more, pulling on the living energy within the forest. Binding it to himself, feeding it with his own life force from deep within himself, he released it and crumbled into a lifeless heap on the ground as the world around him faded into darkness.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Turning as he heard her gasp, Thaddeus wrapped his arms around her, quickly moving them away from the others. Lowering her down onto a large rock, he held her as she clung to him, burying her face against his chest, her body trembling as if she were freezing.

“It is done.” She whispered faintly.

“Is he...” Thaddeus let his voice trail off, unable to ask.

“His fäë (soul) is very weak but he lives.” Aërasumé answered unfinished question. “His fate is in Eru’s (God’s) hands now.” She added, leaning heavily against him.

“Will you be alright?” He asked, his arms tightening around her as he pressed his cheek against the top of her head.

“I am fine.” She replied softly, relaxing in the comfort of his embrace.

“We have other problems.” He told her as he gently smoothed her soft hair with his calloused hand. “It would seem the golden haired elf is none other than the prince himself.”

“What?!” Aërasumé gasped, her eyes wide as she pulled back to stare up at him.

“They have been quiet for a long time but during the night I heard angry voices just beyond the cave.” He told her, concern growing in his eyes as he stared down at her. “From what I could overhear it would seem that the young prince has come in search of the king without informing anyone. There is now a large group of elven soldiers on our doorstep.”

“They cannot be allowed to continue on to Fornost!” She exclaimed in a hushed tone, her eyes pleading with him. “Cerá needs time to get fully away.”

“Taráthiël will see that he is safe.” He reassured her. “I don’t think the tall golden elf outside has any intentions of allowing the prince to go any farther.”

“We must speak to them.” Aërasumé stated as she pushed herself up to her feet.

“Are you sure you are up this?” He asked as he rose, pulling her into his arms again. “The prince said he would let us know his decision in the morning. The day has not yet dawned.”

“I will speak to them now.” She stated more firmly. “The others should be arriving soon and we must convince them it is best for them to return to their lands.”

Nodding, his shoulders slumping slightly as he followed her toward the entrance of the cave. He knew by the tone of her voice there was nothing he could say that would change her mind. Her only concern at this time was for the safety of her brother and those that had remained behind.

“Stay your weapons!” Legolas barked the order as he quickly moved toward the grassy area at the mouth of the cave.

“Aërasumé, Thaddeus.” Legolas greeted them, his tone was soft yet firm as he approached them. “I am the Regent Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm. I do apologize for my deception and I ask that you please forgive me.” He added as he reached them.

“Now that we know who you are and why you are here we can understand.” Aërasumé replied as she studied the tall golden elf that stepped up behind the young prince, his chiseled features were guarded as he studied her in return. “You had no knowledge of who we are. It was a right decision to hide your true identity.”

“My only desire is to find my father and return him to his rightful place.” Legolas stated, his gaze flickered between the two of them.

“The news of the death of Smaug has spread far.” She said quietly, her gaze moving over the faces of the armed warriors that nearly filled the grassy area just beyond the caves. “We heard rumor that the Elvenking fell in the battle on the plains of Erebor. But you believe that he has been taken by slave traders?” She asked, her gaze now fixed firmly on the soft pale blue eyes of the young prince.

“I know only that he is not dead.” Legolas stated, meeting her gaze evenly as he paused for long moments. “He was last seen on the ridge near Raven Hill just north of the main battle. There has been no trace of him found anywhere, nothing.”

“If that has been his fate there is only one slave trader bold enough for such an act.” She told him, her gaze turned to the cold ice blue stare of the tall golden elf just behind the prince. “His name is Lochinvar but he would not have brought him to this side of the Misty Mountains. Your king is far too well known in these lands, the risks would have been too high for him. If it was he who took your father, he would have taken him south to Harad.”

“How do you know so much about these slave traders?” Aldalómë asked quietly, yet his tone was harsh and demanding as he stared at her. “He is known to trade slaves with the dark elf in these parts.”

“Aldalómë!” Legolas hissed as he turned toward him, anger flashing in his now cloudy blue eyes.

“It is alright hîr vuin.” (My Lord) Aërasumé said softly as she touched his arm. “I am not afraid to answer his questions.” She continued, turning a cold gaze toward the outspoken golden elf. “Lochinvar and his cruel deeds are well known among the people of Arnor, but particularly those of the North Downs and Fornost. Yes, he brought elves as slaves to the dark elf whose name was Annûmëä, the necromancer of Carn Dûm. But not for profit, they were in payment of a bargain struck between them to leave the people of Forodwaith in peace.”

“I have never heard that name.” Aldalómë stated, his tone remained authoritative yet not quite as harsh as before.

“I do not suppose you would.” She stated, mirroring his own attitude toward him. “The Mage Wars were fought mostly in Beleriand during the time of King Thingol. The necromancer you know as Sauron defeated most of the others vying for Melkor’s favors. He killed the Witch King Angmar, but he was forced into hiding before he could finish his attack on Carn Dûm. The dark elf was struck down by the hand of one of his slaves nearly four thousand years ago.”

“You spoke of others.” Legolas stated, satisfied that this elleth (elf maiden) and her people knew nothing of the whereabouts of his father. “When do you expect to see them?”

“They were only a day behind us, two at the most.” Thaddeus answered the question for her. “They should have reached us by now.” He added, concern and worry etching itself in his face.

“We will ride toward Fornost to see if they have run into trouble.” Legolas told her as he took her hands, squeezing them gently. “They should not be too far out.”

“Shh.” Thaddeus quieted her before she could speak as the prince turned and strode purposefully away from them. “The taller elf is already suspicious.” He whispered as he hugged her closer to him.

“What are you doing?!” Aldalómë demanded as he followed the prince back toward the troop of elven soldiers. “My orders are to bring you back to the palace at once.”

“If I am not mistaken Chief March Warden, as the Regent in the absence of my father, it is I who will give the orders.” Legolas stated as he continued his purposeful stride toward the troop.

“Hîr vuin.” (My Lord) Aldalómë stated as he quickened his pace. “You are not yourself, you are thinking with your heart...”

“Yes I am angry!” Legolas hissed as he stopped in his tracks to face him. “I would think you of all people would understand! He is not only your king, he is your oldest friend.”

“And I know that he would want me to protect his only son.” Aldalómë stated as they stood there glaring at each other.

“Then you can do so by coming with me because unless it is your intention to forcibly return me to my fathers’ halls, we will depart shortly for Fornost.” Legolas stated as calmly as he could muster against the anger that twisted in his gut.

“Perhaps it’s best if he can see for himself.” Eluandúnië said quietly, clasping Aldalómës’ shoulder as he approached him. “I cannot say that you or I would not do the same in his position.”

“I am not so certain I want to believe them.” Aldalómë said as he cast a glance back toward the man and the woman he recognized to be a half-elf. “If there is no danger in Fornost, why do so many flee?” He asked, turning back to the other March Warden.

“I guess we will find out.” Eluandúnië sighed heavily. “Either way, the men still look to us for guidance.”

“We have been given no choice.” Aldalómë sighed as he turned away from him, his expression unreadable as his gaze raked over Ivósaar and Träëliôrn who stood nearby.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“We all knew something like this could happen.” Galion said quietly, turning his gaze from the hearth to look at the concerned face of the Lord of Imladris. “While he does everything he can to avoid war, Thranduil has always prided himself in being a warrior king who does not send his men to their deaths but is willing to fight alongside them.”

“What does your heart tell you?” Elrond asked as he rose to his feet the fetch the teapot.

“He and I have been lovers since before our time in Lórinand.” Galion smiled softly, although it did not dim the sadness in his eyes as he held out his cup to him. “But we are not bonded.”

“Still, you know Thranduil better than anyone.” He said, filling both of their cups. “What does your heart tell you?” He asked as he turned away from him to sit back down in the chair opposite him.

“My heart.” Galion said, his tone was almost a chuckle if it had not been so empty as he turned his gaze back to the flames.

Elrond watched him silently as he sipped his tea. He too had been reminiscing of Lórinand and his first meeting with Thranduil. He was only a young prince at the time, experiencing the world beyond the Woodland Realm and his overbearing father for the first time. It was there, during his two years of exile that Thranduil had found himself, much to the chagrin of his father.

“My heart is blinded as it is still filled with hope and the desire to believe he will return to us, to me.” Galion said thoughtfully.

“I think we all share your feelings.” Elrond sighed heavily, still refusing to believe that his friend was no longer with them.

“I have never been able to form a bond with Legolas.” Galion commented, his brow furrowing deeply as he turned back toward Elrond. “It seems the harder I try to get close to him, the more he pushes me away.”

“Have you considered the fact that he might be jealous of you?” Elrond asked, choosing this moment to find out the truth.

“Jealous maybe, blame yes.” Galion laughed as he rolled his eyes. “Although I have nothing to do with Thranduils’ decision to rebuff the child’s advances.”

“So there is no intimate relationship between them?” Elrond asked, arching a brow as a smile curled his lips.

“Oh heavens no.” Galion stated, pausing to take a sip of his tea. “Not for the lack of trying. The child has done everything he can think of to attract his attention in that way. And yes, for a time Thranduil struggled with it but could not bring himself to agree. Why do you ask?”

“When I first arrived I found him in his fathers’ bed chamber in a rather compromising position.” Elrond stated, meeting Galions’ gaze evenly. “In his drunken delirium he thought I was his father. I must admit.” He paused for a moment to clear his throat as he felt a slight blush creep up from beneath the collar of his robes. “It has been a long time since I was kissed with such passion.”

“Oh dear.” Galion sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping visibly. “This is not good.” He added as a deep frown formed once more across his brow. “The child is struggling as was Thranduil all those years ago. He has not yet found his place and desires so much to be like his father.”

“And you see this as a bad thing?” Elrond asked curiously. “I personally rather prefer that he be more like his father than his grandfather as I see both in him.”

“Eru (God) forbid that he take after that monster!” Galion exclaimed angrily, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. 

“However.” He continued as he got hold of himself. “I believe Thranduil may have agreed if he thought it was mere curiosity and a onetime encounter would suffice to satisfy him.” Galion said, his gaze turning inward as if he were remembering something from the past. “His greatest concern is that it would create an unnatural bond between them.”

“He is right.” Elrond sighed, staring down into his teacup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aman - The name used by the elves to refer to the Undying Lands
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!
> 
> This story has been both fun to write but there is so much more to tell! This part of the story is winding down and should be concluded within the next two chapters.
> 
> As always, comments are welcome!


	11. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Cerályië struggles to regain his strength, Edicûve worries that something has gone wrong. Threatened with bodily force, Legolas reluctantly agrees to return to his father’s halls yet he must deal with his own demons from the past.

“I do not like this.” Aldalómë said quietly as he reached the stone outcropping where Legolas waited for the scouting party to return. The uncomfortable feeling only intensified his already growing frustration at the young prince.

“I am not going back, not yet.” Legolas stated, glancing briefly at the Chief March Warden before turning his gaze back toward the approaching rider. “For now, the least I can do is see to the safety of these people. It is what my father would have me do.”

“The scouts are returning.” Träëliôrn stated as he reined his mount to a halt near the Prince and the Chief March Warden. “It looks like a group about half the size of what we found in the cave.” He added, glancing between the two of them. “There is only one wagon. It appears to be only men on horseback, no women or children.”

“How long before they arrive?” Aldalómë asked, still watching the western horizon for any sign of them.

“They look to be about forty miles out.” Träëliôrn replied, looking at the Prince. “Pulling a wagon, I would say before nightfall.”

“Träëliôrn, come with me.” Aldalómë stated as he turned away from them, striding purposefully toward their makeshift camp. “Find Ivósaar and bring him here.” He added, glancing back over his shoulder at the forest patrol captain.

“Eluandúnië.” Aldalómë said quietly as he reached the other March Warden. “I am sending Träëliôrn and Ivósaar with you and your troops to act as an escort to the others. I will take the Prince and the rest back to caves. Meet us at Hoarwell Pass and we will decide what to do then.”

“Good idea.” Eluandúnië chuckled, glancing back over Aldalómë’s shoulder at the prince. “I do not care for sitting out here in the open like this.” He said as he turned away from him, his gaze searching the faces of his troops for lieutenant Côrnäith.

Sighing heavily, Aldalómë nodded as he scanned the landscape around them. It was a desolate place with a dark sense of foreboding in the shadows of Carn Dûm and Mount Gundabad. The plains of Arnor were unknown to the elves of the Woodland Realm as few traveled beyond the Misty Mountains. He wondered at the words of the half-elf in the caves, he could not shake the feeling there was still much she had left unsaid. Elves and men played no part in the Mage Wars of the early part of the First Age. It was a battle fought between the Valar and those Maia who had been corrupted by Melkor. Sauron, known then as Annatar had been the mightiest of those corrupted and he was sure it was his evil presence now felt in Dol Guldur and Mordor.

“Prince Legolas.” Aldalómë said quietly as he approached him. “I would have a word with you.”

“What is it Aldalómë?” Legolas asked, a slight frown furrowing his brow as climbed down from his perch.

“You are right.” The Chief March Warden said quietly once they were alone. “I cannot know how you feel. Yet I have a duty to remind you that you are the only heir, the last in the line of the throne for which your father has sacrificed so much. Would you have those sacrifices be for nothing? It may not be to your liking but you have no right...”

“I have every right!” Legolas exclaimed angrily, his pale gray blue eyes darkening as if a great storm brewed within him. “He is my father! He is all I have and I want him back!”

“We will continue to search for him but not with you.” Aldalómë told him, his gaze hardening as he stared back at the young Prince. “I have been one of your fathers’ closest friends since the great journey east. On the day you were born, I vowed to him that if anything should happen to him, I would protect you with my life if necessary. We will see to the safety of these people. I have sent Eluandúnië out to escort the others to Hoarwell Pass. But you will return to the caves with me now.”

“Enough!” He exclaimed as the prince opened his mouth to speak. “You will follow my orders willingly lest I change my mind and we return your fathers’ halls without delay. If I must bind you to the damned saddle I will do so!” He stated as he leaned toward him threateningly.

“You would not dare!” Legolas hissed, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the Chief March Warden.

“I will gladly face my fathers’ reprimand for mistreating you, but I will not be held to account for returning with the body of a dead prince.” Aldalómë stated, leaning close enough to feel his breath. “Now, I have humored you long enough. Prepare to leave this place.” He stated as he turned away from him, striding toward Eluandúnië and the mounted troops behind him.

“Keep your eyes on the mountains to the north.” Aldalómë said quietly as he grasped the halter of Eluandúnië’s mount to stay him. “I sense there is truth to the half-elf’s words, but I do not think she has told us everything. I have felt a shift in the balance of things.” He told him then stepped back as Eluandúnië raised his hand, giving the signal to move out.

“Gráthgör!” Aldalómë called out for his lieutenant as he glanced briefly back toward the young prince. “Get the men ready, we are returning to the caves.” He said quietly as the lieutenant sprinted quickly up to him.

Frozen in place, Legolas watched as the men broke camp and quickly rounded up their mounts to leave. Rage built within him, feeling torn between his need to continue the search for his father and the uncertainty of whether Aldalómë would carry out his threat to bind him to his mount did not sit well with him. In the back of his mind, the part of him that he had shut out, he knew the Chief March Warden was right. Yet there was that larger part of him that wanted and needed his Adar (Father), he was all he had of a family and his absence hurt beyond words. They had found nothing of him, there was nothing to tell him what happened to him, leaving him feeling empty and lost.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“We could move a lot faster without that second wagon.” Odhrán sighed heavily as they made camp just south of Amon Sol in the foothills of Weather Hills.

“There’s still a good weeks travel before we reach the bridge at Thorbad.” Taráthiël stated as he tied the horses to the back of the main wagon. “Less for the horses to carry right now. We will burn them both once we get through the Hollin Pass, the smoke will attract the attention of the people of Drimmill Dale. Cerá cannot use magic so close to Dol Guldur.”

“There is still a chance the necromancer will sense his presence.” Daedalus said quietly as he added a few small branches to the fire beneath the small cookpot.

“I have selfishly endangered everyone.” Cerályië whispered, his body still weakened from the exertion that morning. “I have been such a fool.”

“No Cerá.” Edicûve said quietly, pulling the blanket tighter around him as he sank down onto the cot beside him. “You did what you had to do, you saved his life. Lochinvar would never have made it to Harad, Thranduil is too well known. If you had not taken him, he would have tortured him to death to hide what he had done.” 

“Still, they are worried.” Cerályië sighed as he turned his attention away from the conversation just beyond the wagon. “I do not blame them.” He added, leaning heavily against him.

“I want to stay on the East-West Road until we reach the Trallshaws.” He continued after a long silence between them. “I prefer to camp under the cover of a forest right now rather than out in the open.”

“Crossing the Bruinen at the Ford will bring us close to Imladris.” Edicûve said quietly. “It is at least a hundred miles from there to the Hollin Pass.”

“I need to rest mellon nîn (my friend).” Cerályië said quietly, his gaze turning toward the still sleeping form of Thranduil on the other cot. “Soon he will awaken and I am still too weak to deal with him.”

“Lay down.” Edicûve told him as he rose to his feet, guiding him down onto the cot. “I will bring you the broth when it is ready.” He added quietly as he leaned down, daring to kiss his lips softly.

“Goheno nin.” (Forgive me) Cerályië whispered as he returned the kiss.

“There is nothing to forgive.” He told him as he ran his fingers lightly across his face, tucking the stray tresses behind his ear. “Try to rest. I will inform the others of your wishes.”

Touching his cheek gently, Edicûve collected himself and quickly stepped out of the covered wagon. Closing the door behind him, his gaze found Taráthiël with the horses at the back side of it. 

“There is a change in plans.” He stated quietly as he approached him. “We are to stay on this road until we reach the woods of Trallshaws.”

“Why? We need to avoid others. The planned route to Thorbad is far less traveled.” Taráthiël stated, patting the broad neck of his mount before turning away from them.

“Cerá is still too weak.” He said quietly as he guided him farther away from the group. “We need to reach the cover of the forest where he can rest fully before we go any farther.”

“What about Thranduil?” Taráthiël asked, concern etching his face visibly as he looked back at the wagon.

“He still sleeps for now but we must leave soon.” Edicûve sighed heavily, staring off toward the east. “I fear Cerá may have reached too deeply and spent too much of himself. He was not this weakened after we escaped Carn Dûm.”

“He warned us.” Taráthiël said quietly, studying his friend. “You have to do it.” He told him, clasping his shoulder reassuringly.

Nodding Edicûve moved away from him toward the small fire where Daedalus had been cooking the stew for their meal. He knew Cerályië would be angry with him but Taráthiël was right, they needed him to be at his full strength before they reached the Hollin Pass. Môrrosseth had assured him that she had used it on him before with no ill effects. Collecting one of the mugs nearby, he filled it with the broth from the small cookpot, stepping away from the group before adding the liquid the healer had made for him. Opening the door to the covered wagon, he hoped Cerályiës’ dislike for the taste of meat would disguise it.

Struggling against the weight of the darkness that wrapped around him like a heavy winter cloak, Thranduil became aware of the stillness around him. There was a presence in the darkness, letting him know he was not alone. It felt distant yet somehow familiar as it wrapped him with a sense of comfort in the silent void. Fleeting glimpses of a deep blue velvety night sky filled with bright starlight flickered through his thoughts, feeling more like memories of a time or a place that he could not recall. Reaching toward it he felt fear grip him as it retreated from him, then he felt it brush by him, surrounding him, caressing his skin like a warm summer breeze, filling him with a sense of peacefulness. Weary, his struggles seemed to fade, a heaviness settled over him as he was pulled back into a warm embrace like a child being cradled protectively in its mothers arms.

The wooded area known as the Trallshaws Forest was little more than the fifty mile long narrow strip woods that grew on the northern side of the East-West Road. There were no villages, only a small inn at the edge of the wood on the western side of the Bruinen River, the last stop for food or a nights rest for those headed through the High Pass in the Misty Mountains.

Cerályië stared at the glowing embers beneath the small cookpot, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the meat roasting on the spit. The only consolation was that it was rabbit, far more palatable to him than the darker meat of a deer. He was still more than a little irritated at Edicûve for whatever was added to the broth he had given him. Yet, the deeper sleep had allowed his body to recuperate much of his lost strength. The dried fruits and nuts had sustained him thus far but he knew he needed more if he was to regain his former strength. Closing his eyes he listened to the forest around him, hearing nothing but the soft buzz of insects and the subtle movements of smaller nocturnal creatures. The gentle breeze moving through the trees felt comfortable, not chilled as it had been yet the warmth felt earlier had faded with the setting of the sun.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“You should get some sleep young prince.” Eluandúnië said quietly as he lowered his tall frame onto the ground beside him. “You will need all of your senses once we enter the forest.”

“Nobody understands.” Legolas stated, his tone was dry and emotionless as he stared off into the darkness of the night.

“Perhaps it feels like that.” Eluandúnië sighed, his long slender fingers absently toying with the trampled grass in front of him. “You need to remember, you are not the only one to have lost their family. Many were left orphans after the Battle of the Last Alliance, including your father.”

“It’s just that it hurts so much.” Legolas said quietly, his voice cracking with his pain. “I have nothing but questions. Perhaps if...” He cut himself off, afraid that actually saying the words would make them true.

“Even if there was a grave to mark the memory, it would not lessen your pain.” He told him, turning to meet the sad gaze of the young prince. “Like your grandfather, my father fell at the Battle of Dagorlad.” He said quietly, dropping his gaze back to the dry grass in his fingers.

“I cannot bury my feelings so easily.” Legolas said, watching Aldalómë in the distance as he moved among the men.

“You think it is easy for him?” Eluandúnië asked, leaning back as if to get a better view of the young prince, his brows rising high on his forehead. “He blames himself for failing to protect him and he is still very much in love with your Adar (Father).”

“What do you mean still?” Legolas asked, a deep frown creasing his brow as he continued to stare at the Chief March Warden.

“Aldalómë blames himself for much of the sadness your father has been forced to endure.” He said, his shoulders slumping slightly as he too watched the tall golden haired elf move about amongst the troops.

“They have much history together.” He continued, feeling the young prince’s gaze boring into him. “They were lovers once when they were very young, barely five hundred years old. The king sought to separate them as he did not approve. Your father was exiled to Lórinand and forced into a marriage neither he nor your mother wanted. For his part, Aldalómë was promoted but was sent to Emyn-nu-Orod (Mirkwood Mountains), only permitted to return once Thranduil’s betrothal was announced.”

“I knew the marriage between my parents was arranged and that my father was not happy about it.” Legolas sighed, his gaze turning inward as he thought about his father and Aldalómë as lovers. It was strange to him that his father only chose ellyn’s (male elf) as lovers after his mother had abandoned them.

“You have been the light of his life and his greatest joy.” Eluandúnië stated, finally turning to meet his guarded stare.

“At least I am proof that he is capable of being with an elleth (elf maiden).” Legolas said softly, almost hesitantly, frowning inwardly as Eluandúnië only chuckled, realizing he sensed that he was fishing for more information about that part of his father’s life.

“Your father has not lacked for companionship from either since the Queen chose to depart these lands.” He said quietly, the lilt of humor still clear in his tone.

“I have asked him why he never married again.” Legolas stated as he looked away from him into the distance, not seeing anything but the image of his father in his thoughts.

“There is no real answer to what you seek Legolas.” Eluandúnië told him as he reached over, clasping his shoulder. “You must find the way to yourself on your own, only you know how you feel inside. But I will tell you this, your father believes in his heart that marriage is to be bound only by true love.”

“Riddles!” Legolas exclaimed silently as he watched the March Warden rise to his feet and stride off toward the main part of the camp.

Closing his eyes, Legolas tried to shut out the images that crept unbidden into his mind, stolen memories of things he should not have seen on those nights he silently snuck into his fathers’ bed chamber. Remembering how horrified he was at first as he watched his father in the throes of passion with his personal servant Galion, yet he was fascinated, even aroused by it. It was that excitement that pulled him back through that long forgotten secret passage from the nursery in hopes of seeing them together again.

Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands as he gave in, allowing the images to flow freely through his mind. The ache in his groin grew painful as he imagined his beautiful father laying there spread beneath the Chief March Warden as he took him. Then as always, the images faded to himself as he looked down at his fathers’ face, his mouth open in a silent cry as he thrust into him, filling him with his own passion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valar = Also referred to as the “Powers of Arda.” They were spirits who shaped and ruled Arda (World) they lived in Aman (the Undying Lands).  
> Maia = Those ‘spirits’ that helped in the shaping of the world, some descended to Arda and took the form of man (Gandalf) as wizards.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! Sometimes chapters are a little boring but they help to build onto the history in the story as well as the backstory on some of the characters. Which is kind of important in my stories since there are far more of my own characters than canon. I am hoping the next chapter will be the final one for this part of the story, we shall see...


	12. The Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions of every sort run high not only within the young Prince Legolas and those who knew Thranduil well as well as other the returning elves of the Woodland Realm in the north. The elves of Fornost struggle to put the past behind them as they release the Elvenking and set out for their new home in the forest on the shores of the Sea of Rhûn.

The only pass through the northern curve of the Misty Mountains safe enough for large numbers was the Hoarwell Pass. The only remaining obstacle into the Woodland Realm was the great Anduin River that started in the foothills of the Ered Mithrin Mountains in the far north, cutting a path to the southernmost regions of Gondor. As winter began to loosen its hold, the warmer days of early spring melted the snow and ice on the lower peaks, fresh streams and waterfalls formed down the mountainside swelling the waters of the great river to dangerous levels.

Unreadable slate blue eyes watched the long procession of mounted soldiers from the Woodland Realm as it moved at what felt like an agonizingly slow pace. The late morning sun glinted off the armor of the troops as they moved through the valley of the pass, surrounding a smaller group of men, women, and children with their wagons filled with all that remained of their worldly possessions.

“Häëmir, get a report from the rear.” Aldalómë stated without turning his gaze from the view before him.

The Chief March Warden was more than uncomfortable with the escort, yet he could not in good conscious have left the travelers to find their own way through the mountains. Many surviving orcs from the battle had fled the plains of Erebor to the safety of vast caverns and goblin tunnels within the mountains. Scavenging off unwary travelers, small groups had been spotted on the higher cliffs, watching yet they were unwilling to attack such a large armed force. 

Many years they had lived in the shadow of the threat of Smaug, his defeat should have been a joyous occasion not only for the elves of the Woodland Ream but for the people of Lake Town and Dale. The battle on the plains of Erebor had cost all of them dearly, beyond the devastating loss of life among the elves, their beloved King Thranduil was still missing.

“The second group has crossed.” Gráthgör informed him as he reached the higher ground where the Chief March Warden maintained his vigil over his troops. “It’ll be nightfall before the last of them reach the other shore.”

“Send word with the next barge to prepare the camp.” Aldalómë said quietly as he turned to look at his lieutenant, his gaze still unreadable. “We will not be entering the forest at night.”

“As you wish.” Gráthgör stated with a nod as he turned and guided his mount back toward the river and the ferrymen.

Struggling to hide his own unbidden memories, Aldalómë continued to watch the young prince and the two forest patrol captains. It felt like a lifetime ago that he and most of the other March Wardens had served in the forest patrol under Thranduil as their Commander. Although much older and more experienced, he still understood the comradery amongst them and their respect for Legolas as their Commander. So great was his love for him, that in his heart he knew he would have followed Thranduil to the end of world if he had asked it of him. But the world was changing around them and he feared not only for the prince, but for the elves and the Woodland Realm itself.

“It will not be an easy task going through the forest with such a large group.” Eluandúnië said quietly as the Chief March Warden guided his mount down from the small rise to join him.

“You will not be going through the forest.” Aldalómë stated, reining his mount to a halt. “I want you to take these people and head north. It will be safer if you follow the trail along the Grey Mountains. I will take the Prince and only a few guards through the forest as I must return him to the palace without delay.”

“He is still young.” Eluandúnië said softly, his gaze shifting briefly toward the prince. “One day he will understand.” He added, meeting the guarded expression on his friends face.

“I can only hope you are right.” He sighed heavily as he turned to watch the three of them. “We both know Thranduil has protected him from so much. I think perhaps overly so.”

“I believe there is more to him than you give him credit.” Eluandúnië stated, arching a brow as he smiled at his friend. “Still, he will have you and the rest of us to help guide him.”

“Make sure someone keeps an eye on all three of them for tonight.” Aldalómë stated in a guarded tone, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned back to him. “I will not be comfortable until he has been safely returned to where he belongs.”

Watching as the Chief March Warden turned his mount quickly away from him, Eluandúnië knew it was not just the return of the Prince that concerned his friend. There were memories of his own from the distant past that haunted his thoughts in Thranduils’ absence. It pained him greatly to see the grief he struggled to hide from everyone else hidden deep in his eyes, knowing that it was Aldalómë’s love for him that made it so much harder for him.

“I cannot go against Aldalómë.” Träëliôrn stated, his voice was quiet yet his frustration and anger at the Prince was clear in his tone. “There is nothing to be done about it now. You must return to the palace and assume your rightful position.”

“He is right Legolas.” Ivósaar sighed even as he glared at Träëliôrn. “None of us can know how you feel right now but your place is in the palace. The people will look to you for guidance.”

“I do not want this!” Legolas exclaimed through clenched teeth as he hurled the small stone he had been toying with into the darkness. “I have never wanted the crown!”

“Then do not accept it.” Eluandúnië stated quietly but clearly as he stood just beyond the glow of the small fire. “Leave us.” He added, glancing between the two captains as they all turned quickly to look up at him.

“It does not sound as if I am being given much of a choice.” Legolas stated, his gaze studying the March Warden as he lowered himself to the ground next to him.

“There are always choices Legolas.” He said as he shifted into a more comfortable position, folding his legs in front of him. “True, you have no choice in who you are, but there is a choice in what you do with who you are.”

“Stop talking to me in riddles.” Legolas complained, turning his attention back to the fire.

“You see my words as riddles only because you demand answers to questions that you do not know how to ask.” He replied in a guarded tone so as not to anger the young prince any further. “You must first set aside the voice in your heart before you can hear the voice in your mind.”

“How do you expect me to do that, he is my Adar.” (Father) Legolas stated as he reached for a small twig that jutted out from the glowing embers of the fire. “He has always been my strength. I cannot believe he is gone.”

“Cannot or will not?” He asked quietly, studying him intently.

“Both.” Legolas replied, his tone was dry and emotionless. “My father is strong and a great warrior. He would not have been easily taken in battle. If he had fallen in battle there would have been something of him for us to find.”

“Ayë.” (Yes) He sighed heavily, nodding in agreement. “There are many who also believe as you do. This is why there is still hope among the people. Even if you do not accept the crown, you must accept the fact that even as Regent they will look to you as the symbol of that hope.”

“I am not ready for any of this.” Legolas stated, his shoulders slumping as he laid his head back and stared up at the stars.

“It is still too soon.” Eluandúnië said quietly as he pushed himself to his feet. “You will deal with this in your own way, just remember you are not alone in your pain.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The western face of the Misty Mountains was bathed in the reddish golden glow of the setting sun. The ragged surface and jutting outcroppings casting longer shadows across the mountain side, making it more difficult to watch for signs of the orcs and goblins rumored to live deep in the ancient mines of Moria. The entrance to the Hollin Pass was still at least five leagues ahead of the small group moving within the foothills of the mountains.

“I do not like going through the pass at night.” Dorinäélin said quietly as he pulled his mount closer to Taráthiël.

“We have no choice.” He replied, casting him a quick glance. “We cannot afford being seen by the watch at Hollin Ridge.”

“The sun is setting, they will be watching the Redhorn Pass near Khazad-Dûm.” Dorinäélin said absently as he scanned the mountain side to their left.

Falling silent once again, they continued to scan the mountain side for any sign of orcs or goblins as they made their way south. They were in open grasslands now and could easily be spotted by anything moving in the shadows in the rocky cliffs above them. This was the most dangerous part of their journey as they would have to split up once they reached the lee of Hollin Ridge, the tallest peak in the lower part of the mountain range. They had already agreed only two would remain with the supplies at their camp while the rest moved through the pass with the wagons. Once everything had been set, two more would return to the camp to wait for the other two to return once they knew the fires had been seen.

“You alright?” Edicûve asked quietly as he turned to look at Cerályië.

“No, but I will be fine.” He replied, turning away from the mountain to look at his friend, a slight smile curling his lips as he tried to reassure him.

“I wish there was another way.” He sighed, studying his face for a moment.

“This is the best way.” Cerályië said quietly as he turned back toward the face of the mountain. “I will cherish the memories and be comforted with that much.” He added almost to himself.

“The fire and the seeming...”

“Will be felt as nothing more than simple elven earth magic.” Cerályië interrupted him, smiling slightly to take the sting out of his tone.

“I know you lied to him about his memories.” Edicûve stated, the disapproval ringing clearly in his voice. “That is what concerns me.”

“I have no choice.” He shot back at him, narrowing his eyes. “It is a risk I must take to protect him and myself.”

“What about you?” Edicûve asked, refusing to leave the matter rest between them.

“I do not want to forget.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping somewhat as he turned away from him. “The light within him has shown me that I am not lost in this darkness. Perhaps one day it will bring me peace.”

“We will be entering the mouth of the pass shortly.” Dorinäélin stated, reining in his mount as he approached them.

“Anything on the ridge?” Edicûve asked, turning toward him as Dorinäélin guided his mount next to him.

“Nothing yet but Taráthiël wants to stop and wait until the sun sets. It will be easier to spot the watcher if there is one.” He said, looking toward Cerályië.

“Fine, as long as we do not wait long.” He reluctantly agreed, it was already going to be a long night and wait of any length was dangerous at this point.

“It will be good to stretch our legs anyway.” Edicûve commented as they followed Dorinäélin back toward the front, stopping at the first wagon. “It has been too long since we have spent this much time on horseback.”

“The ridge is well beyond the watchtowers of Gondor.” Taráthiël said as they cantered up to him. “If there is a watcher, they should be watching the Gianduin Pass used by most of those still trading with Lórinand.” He added, studying Cerályië’s face as he scanned the mountain side.

“We do not have time for long delays at this point.” Cerályië stated, meeting his gaze evenly. “As it is it will take most of the night to accomplish what needs to be done.”

“Ayë.” (Yes) Taráthiël replied in a matter of fact tone. “But it will do us no good if we are seen too soon. The only blind spot from the ridge is directly below them at the base of the mountain on the other side of the pass.”

“You are right, of course.” Cerályië sighed as he forced himself to relax in the saddle. 

“He is not handling this very well.” Taráthiël said quietly as they watched Cerályië turn his mount away from them back toward the covered wagon where Thranduil still lay in the spell induced slumber.

“I have tried talking to him but it is no use.” Edicûve sighed heavily as they watched him rein in his mount beside the covered wagon. “How would you feel if the one you had dreamed of for many years was suddenly a reality?”

“You know him better than most.” Taráthiël commented, turning his attention back to Edicûve. “Will he go through this?”

“Ayë.” (Yes) He replied, still watching Cerályië as he disappeared in to the covered wagon. “He knows Thranduil does not belong in our world and the last thing he wants is trouble from the Woodland Realm.”

“He’s in love with him isn’t he?” Taráthiël stated more than asked, a deep frown forming on his brow as he shook his head.

“Their bond runs far deeper than love I’m afraid.” He sighed, shifting uncomfortably in the saddle as he turned to look at the captain. “Their tormentor is one in the same. Lord Oropher sold him to the dark elf Annûmëä when he learned that it was Cerá himself that had not only told his wife Háleärgiliäth of what he had done to him but was planning on assisting her in taking his son from him to keep him from doing the same to Thranduil.”

“What sort of father would sell his own son?!” Taráthiël spat angrily, a shudder passed through his entire body at the very thought of it.

“Oropher would not have sold his son.” Edicûve stated in a tone void of emotion, his gaze turned toward the mountain side as he gathered his thoughts. “His interest in Cerá was fading, his attentions had already turned toward the child. After witnessing Oropher’s sexual abuse of the child, he sought only to protect him.”

“I pray he languish for all eternity in the Halls of Angband.” (Hell*) Taráthiël hissed through clenched teeth.

Although he knew he would not awaken him, Cerályië crept silently into the covered wagon as it was time to say his final goodbye to him. Lowering himself onto the edge of the narrow cot, he felt the ache like a knife in his heart as he smiled down at the beautiful sleeping face. Unbidden and unnoticed, hot tears soaked his cheeks as he sat there letting his gaze roam freely over the exquisitely chiseled features as if he sought to commit them to memory. Though he knew it was a face that would continue to haunt his dreams as it had done for so many centuries.

Reaching toward him hesitantly at first, he remembered Edicûves’ words that he had lied to him about his memories and prayed the powers to be could find a way to forgive him. With a gentle finger he slowly traced a line across the smooth brow as he whispered the words that would take his memories into himself.

“The end has come seems, your memories I turn to dreams. From you to me them I bind, no memory shall you find. What has come to pass, I shatter like glass. I set you free, I keep the memory of me.” Closing his eyes as he withdrew his touch, he sat quietly for a moment as he drew the memories into himself and buried them deeply within his heart.

Sensing the presence once more, Thranduil relaxed slightly as he floated within the darkness of a velvety night sky. This time he did not reach for it for fear that it would recoil from him, leaving him alone once more. He watched the flicker of the spray of starlight, frowning inwardly as they shimmered as if he gazed upon them from the depths of the sea. Fear crept into his heart yet he was quickly comforted by the now familiar warmth flow over him, holding him as if it sought to protect him from something yet unseen. Joy filled him as he felt the touch, so gentle yet it was the soothing sound that felt more like thoughts that pulled at him. Slowly it moved him toward slumber then into the all-encompassing nothingness of the darkness.

“Cerá!” Edicûve exclaimed, rushing toward him as he watched him stumble from the wagon.

“It is done.” Cerályië stated, choking back the tears as he fell into the tight embrace.

“Come on.” Edicûve said softy as he led him away from the others, sinking to the ground as he pulled him closer, trying to comfort him.

“I had to do it.” Cerályië said quietly, his voice thick with overwhelming sadness as he clung to him, burying his face in his neck. “I had to protect him.”

“As you always have, so you always will.” Edicûve said quietly, a sad smile touched his lips as he held him, smoothing his hair in the silence of the coming evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halls of Angband.” (Hell*) – These are the Halls reserved for those who will not be given the opportunity to return to Middle-Earth as is given to those who find themselves in the Halls of Mandos where they awaited their fate after a physical death.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! This chapter concludes this part of the story. Part two will follow after I have completed the other published story in order to be able to concentrate on one storyline at a time and therefore (hopefully) publish chapters in a timelier manner.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a re-write of the deleted scenes from a current story that is still a work in progress. While these scenes did not fit the story in which they originally appeared, I really liked them because I love Thranduil in any capacity and I actually ended up falling in love with my villain, Cerályië. He has such a sad backstory and is sort of based on one of my favorite characters from another (Non-Tolkien) fantasy series.


End file.
